Shadow and Light
by Alatariel1990
Summary: Murtagh falls in love with Galbatorix's daughter, Azaelyn, who helps him free himself from the king's clutches. They are separated as he flees to the Varden, but reunited when a new sinister threat appears which they must fight together...
1. Prologue

**Prologue****:**

Urû'baen's walls held many secrets. Secrets that made the king invincible and vulnerable all at the same time.

One of these secrets currently knelt before the king's throne, head bowed. Long, black, wavy hair fell around a slender, almost fragile looking female form. The woman looked no older than 18. She wore dark green leggings, brown boots that came up to the middle of her thigh, a matching sleeveless tunic with a white shirt underneath and a light brown leather belt, on which a sword hung. Above her right boot, she wore a thigh holster with a dagger. A quiver with arrows was strapped to her back and a bow rested beside her right hand on the cold stone floor.

"You have been training quite hard as of late. What brought about such spurs of eagerness?" the king asked, his voice never betraying just how interested he was in her answer. The young woman looked up, her dark brown, almost black eyes cold and hard, her expression inscrutable, her mind locked to him like an impenetrable fortress.

"I do not wish to fall behind of those two Riders concerning my skills," she said, her voice as cold as her gaze. He nodded somewhat pleased. He was calmed for the moment though he would never trust her completely for she was too much of a mystery to him and much too uncontrollable. Fortunately he still had some leverage against her.

"Very well, you may leave and proceed with your training." He waved her off. She bowed her head once more before grabbing her bow, standing up and leaving the throne room. The king followed her every graceful step with his eyes until she was out of sight. No, she was not to be trusted. Even if she was his own flesh and blood...

*****

_**So that's the Prologue. Ain't much, I know, but there will be more, not to worry. I love the Inheritance Cycle and after I read the third book I was so inspired I sat down and wrote like the first five chapters of my fan-fiction on a single weekend. I've written 20 chapters by now, none too long- an average length of three pages on Word- but I'm pleased and I hope you are too.**_

_**I ask for forgiveness if I accidentally used a word wrong or have grammar mistakes (particularly with the setting of commas). I did live in America for round about 4 years, but I'm German by birth and I live in Germany again, so my English- though better than that of my classmates- is far from perfect.**_

**_Well that's that for introduction. I'll hope I'll get a few reviews. Thanks._**


	2. Practice

**Chapter 1:**** Practice**

The moment she had left the throne room her lady's maid, Eorun, was upon her like a vulture upon a carcass. She walked down the hall ways ignoring the frantic questioning of the older looking woman.

"Lady Azaelyn, what did the king want of you? Must you leave the castle again?" Eorun asked, jogging to keep up with her mistress's long, quick strides.

"No," was all Azaelyn replied and sped up even more, so her maid fell behind and eventually stopped pursuing her. She only stopped when she had reached the edge of the training grounds behind the dark castle, just outside the walls. Only few really knew who she was, none outside of Urû'baen's outer walls. Galbatorix's illegitimate daughter. To everyone on the outside she was just a random elite spellcaster that had impressed him enough with her skills to become one of his "secret weapons". She breathed in the fresh morning air of late summer, feeling it relax her tense muscles. She hated audiences with the king. She hated him, her own father.

She looked around and a young man came into her angle of vision. She recognized her father's latest acquirement, the newest Dragon Rider Murtagh. She let her eyes wander over the large meadow that suited as the training grounds. It was bordered by the castle wall on one side, by a private forest on the other. But no matter where she looked she could not spot the red dragon that was Murtagh's companion, Thorn. She shifted her attention back to the young Rider. He was practicing swordplay, fighting an invisible foe. He had taken off his tunic and shirt. His upper body gleamed with sweat in the rising sun and she could see his muscles flexing under his tanned skin. A sly smile crossed her face and she walked to the shadows of the castle wall, watched him unnoticed. She wasn't going to deny that she liked watching this spectacle. He was quite handsome with his moist dark brown, almost black hair, sticking to his sharp features and his gray eyes fixed intently on his imaginary enemy. He had changed so much in the past few years.

He took a hard swipe with his red gleaming blade that forced him to whirl around, now facing Azaelyn. His eyes fell on her and there was an expression of shock on his face that disappeared again within fractions of a second. He lowered his sword and straightened up.

"I didn't notice anyone approaching," he murmured quietly, but her inhumanly keen hearing picked up on it none the less.

"No use practicing so intently if one doesn't notice his foe drawing near," she commented, watching amused as his face turned a deeper shade of red. In the next moment she had drawn her own blade, running her fingers along the sharp edges murmuring "_Gëuloth du knífr!_" Dull the knife! She hardly noticed the drain of her power as the edges of her sword dulled, rendering it useless. She heard Murtagh speaking the same incantation, making Zar'roc equally harmless. So he understood Azaelyn's challenge to a training fight. She unbuckled her quiver and leaned it against the wall along with her bow and her dagger. The moment she turned around Murtagh charged her. She easily parried his attack steel on steel, stepping sideways away from the wall. Murtagh knocked over her quiver by accident as he suddenly faced more resistance than he had anticipated.

They duelled a little while longer, Azaelyn mostly keeping the upper hand. She admitted, he was an excellent swordsman, but with his mere 19 years he couldn't hope to compete with her experience. All that she lacked in physical strength compared to a man she put in speed, agility and a quick, sly wit. She had learned many different fighting styles, not only with the sword and she was good at combining them. Murtagh was panting from exhaustion when they ended their little duel. Azaelyn too was breathing heavily, but it hadn't taken quite such a toll on her.

"You are good with the sword, I give you that, Rider," she said as she followed him to his pile of belongings that he had taken off before practice. He pushed Zar'roc into the soft ground and grabbed a waterskin, taking big swallows from it, some of the water leaking out of the corner of his mouth flowing down his throat and chest before combining with the sweat droplets that beaded his entire body. Azaelyn forced herself to stop watching their progress over his tensed muscles when he offered the waterskin to her. She took it with a thankful nod and took a few sips herself.

"Obviously I'm not as good as you, my lady," he said. He wiped a few strands of his dark hair out of his face.

"Call me Azaelyn, please. I'm far from being the lady I ought to be," she replied, smiling smugly. She hated behaving like a "well brought up young lady" as Eorun wanted her to. She had always been a tomboy and she wasn't about to change it.

"In which case it is only appropriate that you would call me Murtagh instead of _Rider_." His eyes darted over her form, lingering a little longer on her generous cleavage. She noticed, feeling strangely satisfied. She wasn't about to chastise him for it either, after all she had done a lot of staring herself.

"Care for another round?" she asked, holding up her sword. "I'll go easy on you."

"Don't. I like a good challenge and I haven't had one since…" his tongue faltered and his expression became saddened though only for a short moment, "since quite a long time," he ended his sentence and Azaelyn was sure he had intended to say something else, but she wasn't about to press him for more information.

He pulled his sword out of the earth and lunged at her. This time he wasn't so ignorant of her skills and he put more thought into his moves, he even managed to graze her arm with Zar'roc's tip. They moved together over the training grounds in fluid, graceful motions. Azaelyn was earnestly surprised when she noticed the castle wall up against her side. She had wanted to take a swing at him, but her blade only hit the wall. Murtagh saw his chance and covered the distance between them with one step, his sword arm stretched out above his head. This time she had underestimated him, not something that would happen again.

Unfortunately, in the heat of battle, he overlooked the strap of her quiver, his foot getting tangled. He lost balance and instead of a sword she got the entire man suddenly coming down on her, burying her beneath him. They looked at each other, expressions of shock and bewilderment on their faces. After another second or two Murtagh regained his composure and scrambled to his feet.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said, offering her a hand, which she accepted. He pulled her onto her feet seemingly effortlessly.

"There's nothing to apologize for. It was an unfortunate accident," Azaelyn responded, padding the dirt of her leggings and boots, suddenly becoming oddly aware of the marvellous view he got of her cleavage, when she bent over like that. When she looked up, his red face told her that he had indeed been enjoying it. "I wish to take a hunting trip tomorrow, would you like to join me?" she asked. An earnest smile spread over his lips.

"I would love to accompany you. When do you leave?" he wanted to know.

"Right after sunrise. We can meet here," Azaelyn answered, walking towards her belongings and gathering them up. "I have a few matters to attend to but I hope we can do this again sometimes," she said and turned to leave.

"So do I," Murtagh replied with a smile. The smile only faltered after Azaelyn was out of his sight. "Until dawn, Princess," he said quietly to himself.

_You are getting yourself into a big mess_. Murtagh heard Thorn's thoughts in his head. The dragon had been off hunting and was on his way back.

_I know_, Murtagh responded with his own thoughts, sighing. He had known her for so long, saw her almost every day from afar during his upbringing in Urû'baen, admired her, secretly loved her. The daughter of the king he despised so much, whom he was forced to serve. Now she was inviting him to spend time with her and Murtagh had the feeling that it wouldn't help his situation one bit…


	3. The Hunt

**Chapter 2: ****The Hunt**

When dawn approached Murtagh was already standing on the training grounds, a brown horse standing next to him, his bow and quiver strapped to his back. Thorn, who was lying a few feet away on a large, flat stone, would accompany them, but would mostly do some hunting and flying of his own. He kind of wished to still have Tornac, his faithful gray warhorse that he had named after his late swordsmanship mentor. It was with the Varden, if still alive.

"You're up early." He turned around when he heard Azaelyn's voice behind him. She was already mounted on a great white stallion. They exchanged good mornings and decided to be off. It would be a longer trip, two days at least.

They rode side by side through the private forest. Only the king and his entourage, the dragons and the kitchen personnel were allowed to kill an animal here, everyone else was treated as poachers. A cool breeze ruffled the green leaves of the semi-deciduous forest. One could tell right away were an aspen tree stood, the sound of the rustling leaves was the noisiest and most distinctive.

They came upon the remains of a resting place of a herd of deer by late noon. The imprints of their bodies were clearly visible in the grass of the glade. They both looked up as they heard the thuds of Thorn's wing beats. The red dragon landed on the clearing before them and they had difficulties reining in their spooked horses.

_The deer are further up ahead by a stream_, Thorn informed them. He had established a connection to Azaelyn earlier on, though whether he did it because it was his choice or because Murtagh wanted him to, she did not know.

"Thank you, Thorn _Blödhskular_." Bloodscales. She bowed to the dragon who inclined his head in return before lifting of again with a mighty jump.

"I think he likes you," Murtagh commented. She turned to him smiling.

"What makes you think that?" she wanted to know.

"He usually doesn't talk to anyone but me, at least not directly. I'm almost jealous." She laughed.

"No need for jealousy I hope. I would hate to have envy come between us now that I have someone to talk to so freely and to practice with," she said and turned to face the way ahead again. So it really had been Thorn's choice to link their minds. A spark of happiness ignited in her chest for the first time in many years.

After another few furlongs they reached the edge to another clearing. This one had a little stream flowing through its center, dividing it almost exactly in half. A herd of deer was standing by the water, some animals in the low riverbed, just like Thorn had said. Having a dragon to scout the surroundings was quite useful. A sudden ache in her heart overcame her at the thought and she pushed it from her consciousness into the darker corners of her mind. They got off their horses and crouched in the bushes surrounding the clearing, drawing arrows from their quivers and knocked them onto their bows, taking aim. As they released the deadly missiles two deer, a buck and a doe, fell to the ground, dead before hitting the soft bank of the stream. The other animals fled in panic, disappearing from the glade.

Azaelyn and Murtagh stepped out of the brushes and went to retrieve their kills. Murtagh pulled his arrow out of the buck and said, "I suppose we can leave this one to Thorn, the other one should satisfy us." They hadn't eaten since leaving the castle and the sun was already on a setting course. Azaelyn nodded, recovering her own arrow from the doe. She had made sure it hadn't been in the company of a fawn. They decided to stay on the glade for the remainder of the day and night. It was big enough for them and Thorn to be comfortable. So they unsaddled their horses and, after letting them drink from the stream, bound them to low branches. After the horses were safely tied up Murtagh called Thorn to them with his thoughts. The dragon appeared no two minutes later landing by the stream were the dead buck still lay for him to devour, which he began with right away, tearing strips of meat and bone from the carcass.

Azaelyn went to the task of gutting, skinning and cleaning her kill while Murtagh built a fire, lighting it by means of magic and then collected some herbs to season the meat with.

Once the doe was grilling over the flames they sat back in silence. Thorn came up to them lying down and Murtagh leaning against his side. Thorn looked expectantly at Azaelyn who didn't understand at first.

_The nights become colder already. Unless you wish to freeze I suggest you come to me as well_, she heard him speak in her mind.

_Thank you Thorn, I appreciate it_, she said, talking through her mind with him for the first time. She got up and settled next to Murtagh, feeling the warmth that radiated from the dragon's flank. And sure enough, as it grew darker, it also grew much cooler. It was only a matter of weeks now before the first leaves started to change color.

"A shame your being here is not out of free will," she said. Murtagh gave a short snort.

"It is not like you wish to remain in Urû'baen, is it? You dislike the king as much as we do," Murtagh replied.

_If not even more_, Thorn added.

"It wasn't always like this. I liked living here while my mother was still alive, before Galbatorix knew of me and killed her." Azaelyn could remember that day. She had been about twelve years old, standing in the doorway to her bedroom in the small house she and her mother inhabited, just on the outskirts of the city. Though she had never seen the king up close before she had immediately recognized him. He and her mother had been standing on separate ends of the kitchen table, starring at each other intently. Her mother groaned and then toppled over, dead before she hit the wooden planks that covered the kitchen floor. The king had taken everything from her, her family, her freedom and lastly her best friend and companion all in the fear of someone growing up who could oppose him. But she couldn't.

She felt Murtagh's hand on hers and she relaxed it, not having noticed that she had balled it up into a fist.

"He fears you. Galbatorix I mean. Why so?" Murtagh asked. This time she snorted.

"Because he cannot control me the way he'd like to. He has enough in his hand to keep me running errands for him, but he couldn't keep me from- lets say- telling his secrets to the Varden. I can do it so long I don't run the danger of him finding out." She didn't tell them directly that she stood in contact with the Varden's leader, who was now Nasuada since Ajihad's death. Nasuada was now the only one outside the city who knew of Azaelyn. Unfortunately she could not establish contact too often though she liked the headstrong woman.

_How can he not control you the way he controls us?_ Thorn seemed truly curious.

"He cannot guess my true name. I've protected myself with wards for as long as he knew of my existence. I'm quite accomplished at it by now," she answered. A low hum emanated from Thorn. Murtagh stayed silent for a moment.

"Could you help us then?" He explained how Eragon had told him his true name could change. "If Galbatorix wouldn't be able to guess our new names we'd be free of our oaths."

"Maybe. I'd need some time to think of all the possible wards he's placed upon you and then find counterspells and protective spells. All without Galbatorix finding out about it, of course. And changing your true name isn't so easy, you have to change one or more defining features of your character" Murtagh frowned. He looked up at his dragon and Azaelyn was sure they were currently discussing the issue amongst themselves.

"Would that mean we'd actually have to become bad? That wouldn't bring us much, would it?" he continued his questioning.

"No it wouldn't bring you anything, but I can reassure you, changing important parts of your character doesn't necessarily mean you have to become evil." She smiled at his relieved face. Even Thorn gave an easing sigh.

When the doe was done on the outer layers they started to cut off pieces with their daggers, finishing more than a fourth of the deer before the were satisfied. Thorn took care of the rest, in one big gulp including the bones that crunched like breaking twigs as he bit down on them.

Azaelyn found herself cuddled in a woollen blanket, leaning against Murtagh's shoulder, his arm around her back, wrapped up in the same blanket. Thorn's warmth seeped through the fabric unhampered. They stared into the slowly dying flames. She felt incredibly comfortable in their presence and closeness, it let her forget her loneliness.

"When I was little my mother took me in these woods and we'd have camp fires like this. We were always careful not to get caught. She always told me ghost stories. If I slept at all after such stories it was always as close as possible to her in case one of those fictional monsters were to show," she told him. Murtagh laughed and for the first time in her life Azaelyn felt a strange flutter in her stomach region, like the soft wing beats of butterflies. She liked his laugh. She began to grin herself. A loud rumble came from Thorn and she believed to see the corners of his mouth lifted slightly when she looked up.

_Would I be such a monster?_ Thorn wanted to know, amused.

"No, my mother always spoke very highly of dragons," Azaelyn answered, petting over his side. They continued talking and laughing long into the night and- for the time being- forgot what awaited them on the way back…


	4. Dinner with the King

**Chapter ****3: Dinner with the King**

Azaelyn made her way through the dark corridors of the castle she was born and raised in, the castle in which she had found more sorrow and loneliness than happiness and companionship. Her mind kept travelling to Murtagh. He was so different from the others here who were all too afraid to show their hatred for the black king. Murtagh was no such coward, he wore his distaste for the king openly for anyone to see. So did she. She defied the man who cursed himself her father whenever possible. Unfortunately Murtagh had another thing in common with her: they both had no choice but to obey him. She had spent the day in her own little library going through her books about magic, trying to find the necessary spells to help Murtagh and Thorn. It was no easy task, but she was starting to get a better picture of the circumstance. After that she had practiced a little on the training field by herself.

She entered her chambers, passed through the audience room with its big oak table, then her living quarters with the huge fireplace and her little private library and the bath with the gigantic tub, that took four servants almost an hour to fill. She opened the last grand double door down the hallway and entered her sleeping chamber. A heavyset four-poster bed stood in one corner. Another fireplace stood in this room, though not quite as big as the one in her living quarters. There were two more doors in this room. A single door that led to her walk in wardrobe was on the opposite side of the room than her bed. Next to that door stood a folding screen for her to dress behind and a massive dresser. The other door was another double door and led to a balcony.

Her bed had been made by a servant since she had awoken this morning. She went to her wardrobe and searched her clothes for a dress to wear. Her hand stopped on a black and red one. It was made of black, tight fitting velvet around the upper body, the sleeves that broadened at the end and the skirt were made of wine red satin. The V-shaped neckline and the basque waist were pronounced by thin lines of silver patterns that continued down the front of the skirt in a thin strip. She usually wasn't that much a friend of red, but for some reason red was her color of choice at the moment.

She put the gown on the dresser. Eorun walked in at that moment. If she was surprised at her mistress's choice, she didn't show it. She helped Azaelyn slip out of her tunic and leggings and then into the dress. Azaelyn waited patiently as Eorun fastened the red satin laces that closed and tightened the dress in the back. The maid was half way down her back, when Azaelyn spoke for the first time, "I am sorry for my behavior earlier. I shouldn't have been so mean to you." She had once again ignored Eorun's questioning after coming out of the throne room, were her father had spoken with her.

"No need to apologize, my lady. I know how much my lady dislikes visits with your father," Eorun said good-naturedly.

"Particularly if I have to visit him so he can tell me to have dinner with him," Azaelyn continued with a shudder and a sour expression. In her mind she was already thinking of just how long she would have to be in the same room with him. About an hour until food was served and until the last course was eaten it would be another three hours. Her appetite vanished at the very thought. She didn't usually have to eat with him so this had to be an important occasion. She pondered for a while if she might have forgotten something: birthday, coronation anniversary, maybe something he had mentioned to her earlier, but nothing came to mind.

When Eorun had tightened the last lace on her back, she began making Azaelyn's hair, brushing the long wavy strands that fell all the way to the small of her back like black satin. They decided not to make an overly difficult headdress so Eorun simply took the strands of hair that originated at her temples, bound them back and braided them so they wouldn't fall in Azaelyn's face and annoy her. It was her mistress's favorite way to wear her hair, save for completely open. Though the princess had much jewellery she never wore it and she wasn't going to make an exception today.

Done with dressing Azaelyn walked towards the dining hall, Eorun walking the respectable three steps behind her. When she reached the gigantic winged doors to the dining hall she turned to Eorun and told her to wait in her chambers after going to the kitchen to get some food for herself. Her servant bowed before leaving. Now Azaelyn stood alone, her hand resting on the handle of the double door, wishing she too could go in the kitchen.

"Are you going to open that door sometime today?" someone asked behind her. She turned around to find Murtagh standing behind her. He now wore black pants and boots, a deep red tunic and a black belt to which he had attached Zar'roc.

"I'm still debating the issue," she answered with a smile creeping onto her lips. She liked the way he looked in that getup. She also noticed the way their clothes matched. He seemed to have noticed it too for he smiled as well, studying her closely.

"I must say you look absolutely stunning," he complimented her, which brought a little flush to her face and the odd flutter to her stomach that she had experienced a while ago in the forest.

"You don't look bad yourself," she replied. They looked at each other in silence for a few more seconds, before Azaelyn said "I guess we should go inside otherwise the king will wonder as to our whereabouts." He nodded and came towards her as she turned to open the door. She was incredibly relieved not to be entirely alone with her father.

The king, sitting at the head of the long table, raised an eyebrow at their matching looks, but commented it no further. He didn't know his daughter well enough to interpret much into her choice of the gown's color. They sat next to each other, Azaelyn to the right side of her father, Murtagh to hers. On Galbatorix's left side sat a man whom Azaelyn had never seen before. He looked to be in his early thirties, had dark blond hair and a beard and his eyes were a deep blue and though they looked somewhat beautiful they gave her a sense of foreboding. The way he studied her made her feel like merchandise inspected by a customer. The stranger threw Murtagh a dark glance, obviously noticing their matching attires, probably interpreting more into it than just an involuntary accident. Anger rose inside of her. Who did he think he was to judge them? And even if his believes were true- which they weren't- it was still none of his business! She was about to say something when her father spoke first, "I want to introduce you to Lord Turgon, he is here on some business. Lord Turgon, this is my daughter Azaelyn and Murtagh our new Dragon Rider." Murtagh snorted angrily at the introduction. Galbatorix ignored him.

"I have heard of you, Rider, yet little seems to be known of you, my lady," said Turgon in a deep, dull voice as his attention shifted from Murtagh to Azaelyn.

_I like to keep it that way_ was what she almost said, but she was sitting too close to her father and he wouldn't have a problem with slapping her in the face, so instead she asked him what he wished to know of her. "Well for starters: your mother's name would interest me," he said.

"Her name was Narwen," Azaelyn answered.

"And she was a spellcaster as well?"

"Yes." She decided to keep her answers short.

"And future generations would probably be able to use magic too?" His questions began to make her nervous. What was he trying to find out?

"Possibly."

"How old are you?" This time she wasn't going to restrain herself.

"Don't you think it rude to ask a lady for her age?" Her voice held no humor, nor did her face.

"Azaelyn!" Her father's voice had a warning character and she wasn't dumb enough to overhear it.

"When the leaves begin to fall, I will see my 49th year," she said, giving in to her father. There was no point arguing about this. Murtagh, who had taken a draught from his mead swallowed it the wrong way and started coughing. Her answer must have come as a surprise to him. She fought back the amused grin that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. Instead she clapped him on the back until his coughing ceased. He must have known that she was much older than him, she had been all grown up when he was raised here in Urû'baen.

Turgon asked more questions, almost all of them revolving around her lineage and abilities. All the while she was trying to understand what point all of this made, considering there were also two Dragon Riders sitting at the table, she would have expected anyone to be more interested in them than a princess unless… The revelation hit her like a hammer to her chest, pushing all the air from her lungs.

The moment she had recovered from her shock she jumped up so quickly her chair toppled over with a crash. "Excuse me, I think I'm going to be sick!" she hissed and strode from the room. The king got up and followed her. For a moment Murtagh wasn't sure what to do then decided to follow as well. Turgon stayed seated and helped himself to another portion of the lamb.

Azaelyn had run towards her chambers, but the king had caught up with her before she could reach them. So instead of running from him she decided to confront him instead.

"How dare you sell me off to some man like I'm nothing but an animal!" she shouted angrily. He really wanted to marry her off to some stranger.

"He commands many men, he is valuable for my army," Galbatorix said as if that made everything right.

"I'm not going to marry someone just because it suits you!" she yelled back. She heard the slap before she felt the pain of his blow and the resulting hard fall to the stone floor.

"Do not dare to yell at me and never again contradict me!" he said in a loud voice, quieter he added, "It is not your choice to make!" With that he left, walking past Murtagh, who had witnessed the argument, without taking notice of him.

The young Rider stood by the wall in the hallway. His heart was hammering and his guts felt like a giant knot. For a moment he only watched Azaelyn, who sat crying on the floor, not knowing what to do. He walked up to her and knelt beside her, putting an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body so her head rested on his chest. Never, in all the years he had known her had he ever seen her in such a state. It was downright unnerving. She was so much stronger than him and if she could not fight Galbatorix what chance did he have?

_She can fight him, I'm sure of it. Just not yet._Thorn's voice ran through Murtagh's mind. When the Rider asked what the dragon meant, Thorn did not respond. Shrugging mentally, Murtagh lifted his secretly beloved princess into his arms and walked down the corridor. He had a general idea were her chambers were. Fortunately there was only one door that seemed suited. He opened the door, careful not to hurt her. Inside he stopped for a moment, taking it all in. Everything was huge and luxurious here unlike the little crammed room he had. All the doors were open, so it didn't take him long to find her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and was about to turn to leave, when she grabbed the sleeve of his tunic.

"Don't go, please," her voice sounded pleading. Leaving would probably have been the smarter choice, but he stayed. Taking off his boots, belt and tunic, he laid down on the bed with her. She buried her face in his shirt, her sobbing had stopped a while ago, but she still held on to him, like he was her life line…


	5. Three Kisses at Daybreak

To ashl3yj0nas43v3r:

First of all, thanks a lot for your review.

Well, I thought, since Arya is like a hundred years old and no one would complain if Eragon (being 16) would end up together with her and Azaelyn's only half Arya's age and she looks no older than eighteen, it wouldn't be a problem.

And marriages between older men and younger (looking) women weren't so uncommon in medieval times, so I didn't consider Lord Turgon being around thirty to be strange.

I couldn't make Azaelyn too young since her father is like over a hundred years old and for another reason that will become clearer in chapters 15 and 16.

**Chapter 4:**** Three Kisses at Daybreak**

A noise woke Murtagh and it took him a moment to remember were he was. Azaelyn lay next to him, still fast asleep. It was still dark and he couldn't have been here for more than an hour or two. Someone else was in the room now too. He recognized Azaelyn's lady's maid though he couldn't think of her name.

"What are you doing here?" the older woman asked, to herself she said exasperated, "A man in the princess's chambers! In her bed!"

"I asked him to be here, Eorun!" came Azaelyn's voice, who must have awoken as well.

"But my lady… If the king finds out about this…"

"He won't and I beg of you to keep it for yourself." Azaelyn sat up in bed. This was when Murtagh noticed she had changed into a white satin nightgown sometime while he was asleep.

"Of course, lady Azaelyn. Then… I'll see you in the morning." Eorun bowed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

"What if she does tell him?" Murtagh was a little worried. Only a few hours ago the king had announced her engagement with Lord Turgon and now she shared her bed with a man who was- unfortunately- not her betrothed.

"Don't worry, Eorun has always kept my secrets. Trust me, she has enough by now to have me impaled, hanged, quartered and- last but not least- burned," she said with a giggle. He wasn't sure whether he found that to be much of a laughing matter. "Hey, lighten up. Nobody will find out." In the next moment he felt his face turned towards her by her hand that came to rest on his cheek. Before he could think or say anything her lips were pressing down on his. Shock immobilized him, but when it wore off and he finally comprehended what was going on a warm feeling filled his stomach and chest as if he were drinking hot liquid. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach so hard he thought they'd break out of him at any moment. She broke away again, her face flushed red. She started to say, "Forgive me, I have no idea what came over…", but before she could finish, his hand wrapped around her neck and pulled her back towards his face.

The kiss was soft and timid at first, both had no idea what to do, but soon enough they let themselves fall into the moment's passion. His other hand rested on her back, pulling her closer, intensifying the kiss. He licked over her lower lip, begging for more. And she gave him more, parting her lips and meeting his tongue with her own half way. The kiss turned into a heated battle of their tongues, no one wanted to give up or end it. At some point he became aware of lying on his back, his head resting on the pillow and Azaelyn leaning over him, her long black tresses tickling his face. After about another five minutes of the addictive kiss she broke away from him, breathing heavily and smiling down at him. Never in his life had he felt so happy, even Thorn's chastise in his head couldn't spoil his mood.

"I suppose we could have chosen a better timing, but I'm not about to complain," she said, lying down in his arms, her head on his shoulder. No she wouldn't complain. For one she really did care for Murtagh in more than just a platonic way, she had realized that while he cared for her after her father's harsh treatment, and for two, she'd rather have her first kiss- and a few other firsts- with him than with Lord Turgon, though she had no intention on marrying him anyway. Murtagh had been strong for her in her moment of weakness and for that she was more than thankful. She inhaled his scent, a fragrance of wood, leather and the sort of clean air that could only come from flying as high as the clouds, all with an attracting musky note. She could spend hours just smelling his aroma.

The two of them fell asleep together only waking up when the sun shone through the windows of her bedroom. He leaned over her and muttered a "Good Morning!" then kissed her lightly on the lips.

"I could wake up like this all the time," she said, staring into his gray eyes with her own brown ones. Seeing her eyes like this, he noticed for the first time that they weren't brown at all, but rather the color of molten gold. How could he have overlooked that? He had been sure her eyes were brown. He must have been mistaken.

"So could I," he replied before kissing her again, this time deeper and more passionately. She returned every bit of his lust for her and he shifted slightly to get a better angle, ending up between her legs. She pulled him as close as possible to her body and he could feel her breasts against his chest, which made an electrical shiver course through his entire body and collecting in the region of his loins. He severed his connection to Thorn completely. This he wanted for himself, not to mention he found it even to intimate to share it with his dragon.

He lifted himself up a little, without breaking the kiss as he felt her hands fumble with the laces of his shirt, opening one after the other. Her fingers travelled over his heated skin, tracing his stomach muscles, making him moan against her mouth at the sensation. He sat up for a moment to take his shirt off entirely and then repositioned himself on top of her, always careful not to hurt her. One of her hands stayed at the back of his neck while he kissed her, the other started exploring his back, tracing the knotted scar that his father, Morzan, had left there. His own hand wandered now, starting off at her knee and moving up the outer side of her leg, pulling the fabric of her nightgown along. His hand just reached her drawers when a scream made him bolt up, lose his balance and fall out of bed, hitting the ground hard with his right shoulder.

"Lady Azaelyn! Master Murtagh! How could you?" Eorun screamed hysterically, continuing to mumble something about "extramarital intercourse" and "bad reputation, lost honor" and "what if the king…" Azaelyn meanwhile leaned over the bed, a big smirk on her face, making her eyes gleam even more like gold.

"Are you alright?" she asked, doing a poor job at keeping herself from laughing.

"My pride might have taken a big blow, but otherwise I'm fine," he answered smiling up at her. He sat up on the floor and rubbed his aching shoulder. She leaned over to him and kissed his shoulder. He moved towards her, claiming her lips yet a third time this morning, forgetting Eorun, who was still having a fit, for a moment. He felt himself being grabbed by the arm and dragged away from Azaelyn. Eorun pushed his clothing into his arms and ushered him towards the door.

"It's time for you to go, Master Murtagh!" He was somewhat surprised at her strength and perseverance. Like a Shrrg protecting her pups. Smiling at the comparison he stumbled out of the room and heard the door being slammed shut behind him. He quickly put on his clothes again and ran out of her chambers towards his own room that was on ground level, instead of on the first level. It had a big window were Thorn could stick his head through.

The dragon was waiting for him, his head resting on the broad windowsill.

_You're no longer __**getting**__ yourself into trouble, you're __**already**__ standing in it hip deep_, the dragon said, though his voice sounded amused rather than angry.

_I think she's worth it_, Murtagh replied, leaning slightly on Thorn's snout. The dragon exhaled warm air that enveloped Murtagh for a moment before subsiding.

_She might be, especially if she truly can bring us one step closer to freedom_, annotated Thorn. Murtagh just nodded to that. He didn't care if she could help them or not, he still cared for her…


	6. First Steps

**Chapter 5:**** First Steps**

Throughout the following weeks Azaelyn and Murtagh saw each other quite frequently, sparring together in the mornings, meeting occasionally throughout the day "by chance" and sharing a bed at night though they hadn't gone quite as far as during the first time anymore. It was difficult not being detected, particularly now that Lord Turgon believed it appropriate to spend some time with his betrothed, "getting to know her". As long as her father wasn't around she usually gave him snappy answers to his questions or ignored him all together. At some point he seemed to give up, returning to his own estate in the west though not without threatening to return.

Murtagh quickly learned that he hadn't been wrong at all about her eye color being brown. The color of her eyes changed and he also learned that it had to do with her mood: If she was in a terrible mood her eyes were dark brown, almost black, if she was in a wonderful mood her eyes took on a golden nuance. In between, there were different shades of brown, the lighter the cheerier and the darker the more sullen she was. It was an intriguing discovery, particularly because he liked the fact that her eyes always brightened when she saw him and always turned gold when he kissed her.

She had also started teaching him more about magic. He was amazed by her knowledge and her vocabulary in the ancient language. Apart from that she spent many hours of every day pondering over her many spellbooks, searching for the spells and wards she needed to free Murtagh and Thorn of their oaths. He often found her in the evenings sitting on her bed in her nightgown with one of her books on her lap and asking him questions about his oaths, taking notes on a piece of parchment.

Occasionally one of them was sent on an errand somewhere in the Empire. Scouting different locations or getting rid of the king's enemies. Azaelyn had once been sent to assure a safe journey for a convoy moving supplies to the king's troops. She came back saying she hadn't been quick enough and that the Varden had destroyed the troop. Murtagh later found out that she had been the one to kill and burn everything. He knew by now that she was of more help to the Varden than to her own father and he loved her even more for it. He'd do the same if it were in his power.

After being together for more than a month she came to his room with a ring in her hands. A simple, broad gold band with a round, deep red ruby set into it. The stone was filled to the brim with energy.

"For now the only spells on this ring are one that allows me to feel it when your true names change and a counterspell of Galbatorix's ward to detect the same. As long as his ward doesn't react he won't know your names are different. It will give me time to cast more spells on the ring to protect you both and enough time for you to leave without drawing direct attention to it. Always keep the ruby energized otherwise the wards will draw their strength directly from you and that might become deadly if the king tries to force his way past the spells," she had told him. For that he kissed her and even Thorn nuzzled her thankfully. This was a big step forward and with a little more patience they might be free at last.

The leaves in the private forest had turned red, yellow and lastly brown when news of Feinster's fall reached the castle and though the king was raging throughout the dark corridors Azaelyn and Murtagh were celebrating in her chambers, Thorn sitting on her balcony, half outside, half inside. His thick hindquarters didn't fit through the double doors.

Eorun stepped into her mistress's bedroom, giving the couple sitting on the bed a big smile and bowing low to the dragon. She had stopped upsetting over their relationship when she noticed her charge's happiness and saw the gold color return to her eyes after being gone for so very long. "I only wished to tell you that my family holds the annual autumn festival at our home in three days and I wanted to invite the three of you," Eorun said. "My husband bought two large oxen only for you, Thorn Bloodscales", she continued, facing the dragon who crooned softly and the tip of his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking over his upper jaw.

"I'd love to come, thank you Eorun," Azaelyn replied, accepting the invitation. Both women looked at Murtagh, who seemed uncertain. His gaze travelled over to his dragon, who looked just as expectant.

With a sigh and a smile he said, "I've been outvoted. We'll come as well, thank you." Eorun bowed again, bade them a good night and left, closing the door behind her.

"What made you hesitate?" Azaelyn asked him as he let himself fall into the soft bed covers.

"It's just that I'm used to people keeping their distance from me because I'm the son of Morzan the traitor. I wouldn't want the people to give me disdainful looks or even be frightened of me on the festival," he answered. Azaelyn leaned over him, kissing him on his forehead, her long hair tickling him on his bare chest.

"Trust me, your father pales in comparison to mine." She grinned at him and he returned it. "Besides, I've been going to these annual festivals Eorun's family holds for many years now. They are not the kind of people that judge you for your lineage."

She told him a little bit more about Eorun's family. The woman had been Azaelyn's maid for the better part of five-and-thirty years now; she herself was about fifty-five years old. She and her husband Alcott had four children, three sons and a daughter. All of them had families of their own, which they brought to the festival every time. Then there were many cousins, aunts, uncles and siblings that came as well, resulting in a huge family gathering that always seemed to end in Uncle Godfrith dancing on the tables in a drunken state.

"Oh, I can't wait to see how much little Ingrede grew in the past year. She was four when I saw her last," Azaelyn said in an excited voice, referring to the youngest offspring of Eorun's daughter. Murtagh smiled at her. It was absolutely fascinating how different she was to her father at least as long they were alone.

"You like children?" He asked just to keep her talking for he loved the sound of her melodious voice.

"I love children. I want a whole bunch of them someday," she told him, lying down next to him, her face buried in the nape of his neck. "What about you?"

"I haven't thought about it to be honest, but yes, I suppose I want children someday when all this madness is over and their grandfather off the throne." He didn't have to look at her to know she was turning red, he could feel the rising heat in her cheeks on his skin. She cuddled even closer to him, placing butterfly kisses along the sides of his neck.

"_Eka anama ono!_" he heard her whisper. I love you! His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't quite expected it, but it made his insides flutter more intensely than ever before.

"_Un eka anama ono!_" And I love you!

_This is as good as any time for me to leave_, said Thorn in their minds and he exited her room backwards, then jumping off her balcony and flying into the night, leaving the couple to themselves. This was one thing he didn't want to intrude upon…

*****

**_When the ancient language is spoken throughout my story I try to use the vocabulary that is already given to the readers of the Inheritance Cycle by Paolini. But sometimes a view words are missing and I make them up myself with the help of a welsh dictionary ( I know Paolini's language is based on Gaelic, but I haven't found an internet dictionary for that). _Anama_ for instance is a word I made up myself and it means_ to love_._**


	7. The Festival

**Chapter 6:**** The Festival**

When the evening of the festival arrived Azaelyn and Murtagh snuck out of the castle grounds. Not a too difficult task if one could use magic against unsuspecting guards. Thorn flew in plain sight over the walls, not uncommon so it raised no alarm, but it did cause for some distraction amongst the warriors, making it even easier to pass unnoticed and disappearing in the shadows of the city houses. Both of them wore long, dark cloaks to give them better cover.

Once out of sight of the castle they walked more freely through the emptying streets. Those who were still walking about paid no attention to the two. Eorun lived on the very outskirts of the city on an old farm that her husband ran. Once they arrived Thorn was already waiting for them before the house. Loud voices and laughter emanated from the courtyard behind the house just like the music from string instruments, drums, flutes and a bagpipe.

"Seems they've already started without us," stated Azaelyn and walked to a door in the high fence, pushing it open and sliding through. Murtagh followed her, his stomach tying in a knot from nervousness. What if they hated him like everyone else did?

_Not everyone hates you. I for one don't and Azaelyn doesn't either. She's told you so in the ancient language_, Thorn reminded him. That was true. She had told him she loved him in the ancient language and one couldn't lie in that tongue.

After slipping through the door in the fence he took in his surroundings. There were so many people, at least fifty and from every age group. Some were obviously already drunk, already bawling and laughing at the top of their lungs. There was a small hill on the far side of the courtyard that had been kept clear. For Thorn no doubt. So Murtagh sent him an image of were the dragon could land and no two minutes later everyone fell silent as Thorn touched down on the hill with a loud thud. After another minute of silence many began to applaud, bellow and whistle in acknowledgement of the dragon.

"Hail, Thorn Bloodscales!" Some shouted. The knot in Murtagh's stomach unquenched slightly. At least they accepted his companion well. He made his way through the crowd to reach his dragon, passing by a huge open fireplace over which an entire ox and a half eaten sow slowly roasted. The smell of the cooking meat was equally revolting as it was enticing. He reached the hill, sitting down by Thorn's right foreleg, leaning against it.

_You should join in_, the dragon said, nudging his Rider in the back.

_Maybe in a moment. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed._ His gaze travelled over the many faces, only Eorun's was familiar.

"I didn't bring you with me so you could sit around." Azaelyn's voice made him raise his head. She had taken off her cloak, holding it in her right hand. She wore black leggings, boots and belt and a gold-brown tunic with gold flower embroidery that underlined the color of her eyes and fit well to her black hair and her slightly tanned skin. She looked wonderful.

"There are just so many people," he replied. He didn't feel comfortable in such large crowds.

"Dance with me," she said suddenly and he looked at her incredulously as she offered him a hand.

"I can't dance." Well, the exact truth was that he had never tried it.

"Come on, half the people here can't dance and the other half is to drunk to stand straight." Azaelyn took his hand and pulled him up with a strength that surprised him every time. It was so easy to forget just how strong she was because of her light, almost fragile build. She led him to a corner of the yard closest to the band were a few other people danced. At the moment the band was playing a quick, jumbled song and the dancers mostly hopped around each other. A rather funny sight to behold and Murtagh felt a smile crack his features. The moment they stepped onto the _dance floor_ the band started a slower, more coordinated song. Many disappeared amongst the crowd, leaving only a few couples who weren't too drunk yet. Everyone started in two rows, the men on one side, the women on the other, partners facing each other. He had seen dances like this during his upbringing here in Urû'baen on festive occasions in the castle, so he knew a few of the steps though never having danced himself. Everything else he just copied from the other men. There were many turns and the partners would occasionally meet in the middle for a short time, lightly touching, usually only with the palms of their hands, turning around each other before parting again. When the song silenced the couples bowed to each other, before some stepped out of the circle of dancers and others joined as a quicker music began once more.

Azaelyn led him through the crowd to a table filled with mugs and goblets, pitchers of ale, mead and wine. She grabbed a pint of ale and waited until he had filled a big mug with mead. Together they made their way back to Thorn so the dragon wouldn't be so alone. When they arrived they saw that their worries were needless. A few people stood around the dragon, particularly children who seemed to take a liking to climbing over his scaly body. Thorn took it with ease, lifting one child up on his back with his snout.

"Someone's enjoying himself," Azaelyn grinned and pulled Murtagh in a different direction now that she knew Thorn handled himself quite nicely all on his own. They came to a table, were Eorun, her husband and a few other family members sat. After the introductions they made room for the two of them and Murtagh was bombarded by questions of how life was as a Dragon Rider.

Almost all of the people he spoke to were clearly against Galbatorix which made it a lot easier to talk to them. A little girl, no older than five, undoubtedly Ingrede, had jumped up on Azaelyn's lap and inspected him closely, then whispered something in the princess's ears who laughed. He leaned towards her and asked, "What'd she say?"

"She said she thinks you're quite dashing," Azaelyn whispered back, sneaking a light kiss onto his cheek. "I have to agree with her on that." She smiled at the hue of red in his face. After a while Ingrede left with a few other children and her mother came towards them.

"I'm glad you could make it here tonight, Azaelyn. I want to introduce you to someone," said the woman and help a baby towards Azaelyn, who took it carefully. "That is Elvina," the mother introduced the baby.

"Oh my… She's beautiful." Murtagh watched as his love cradled the infant in her arms and found that a child suited her well, like a missing part in an otherwise perfect painting. The women talked about a quarter of an hour, before Eorun's daughter took her child back and left to lay it to rest.

"You always did have a hand for children," someone said behind them and as they turned around, the princess jumped up and hugged the person standing there. It was an old looking man with a gray beard hanging past his waistline, dressed in a greenish robe, holding a staff in his right hand. He was tall, probably a head taller than Murtagh who was actually blessed with a rather good height himself.

She introduced the man as Barwick, her mentor in swordplay and- more importantly- in magic.

"I've heard about you, young master Murtagh. Not all good things, but that always depended on whom I would ask. I can tell Azaelyn is rather fond of you and I suppose that speaks for you." The old man said and clapped Murtagh on the back with unexpected strength. Barwick got up and walked towards a wagon filled with fireworks.

"A strange man," Murtagh stated. She nodded in agreement.

"But very wise and skilled and he used to be a close friend of my mother. He's one of the best spellcasters in all of Alagaësia. Rumor has it that he is a mage," she told him. He was impressed. Magi were believed to be extinct in Alagaësia. According to lore, they were as immortal as the elves and equally powerful in magic. Some believed them to be even stronger. Nobody knew from where magi came or where they went. They were revered as philosophers and scholars, not only of magic but of life itself. If what Azaelyn said was true, she had learned from the finest.

The fireworks started about an hour later. And he soon found out that they were obviously magical for the colorful sparks flew in impossible directions and collected to the strangest formations before disappearing. Barwick had joined them again and talked to Murtagh for a bit. They got along great and after a while his new little admirer, Ingrede, came as well, sitting down next to him, cuddling against his arm and sticking her thump in her mouth. She was quite sweet.

His eyes wandered over to Thorn who met his gaze. Murtagh could almost see the smile in Thorn's eyes edged onto his jaws as well. In that moment they were not the slaves of Galbatorix, no outsiders, he wasn't the son of a traitor and Thorn not the dragon of a traitor's son. They were a part of something, completely integrated into the midst of people who had every right to shun them, to hate them. For the first time, they were not alone.

Azaelyn felt an electric surge run through her body and she knew what it meant right away. Her ward had been triggered. Thorn's and Murtagh's true names had changed.

She waited until their journey back to the castle to give Murtagh the news. He looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"So quickly? But… How?" Thorn landed next to them on the empty streets, this interested him as well.

"Well, I can only presume it's because your defining characteristics are your loneliness and your fear of being shunned by everyone for being the son of Morzan, the son of a Forsworn. I suppose tonight you finally felt like people could actually tolerate you for who you are. It's something you should **never** forget. You are you and not your father." She stared intently into his eyes. There was a strange emotion in her eyes that he couldn't read. Was it sadness?

_What about me?_ Thorn wanted to know. She looked towards the dragon so Murtagh couldn't read her expression anymore.

"Equal reasons I believe. You were just as alone and scared of being scorned. You both should remember that nobody but yourselves decides how people see you." Her words started to sink into the both of them. They were free! Free to fly away and leave Galbatorix and Urû'baen behind. Murtagh laughed, grabbing Azaelyn around the waist and whirling around himself twice with her in his arms. She started laughing with him. He let her slide down onto the ground gently until she stood on her own feet, his arms trailing down her sides and grabbing her hands. He rested his forehead against hers.

"We couldn't have done this without you," he spoke softly.

"It's not quite done yet." With that she started murmuring in the ancient language, her fingers touching the ruby on the ring she had given him. They stood there for a good twenty minutes before she uttered the last syllable. He could feel the magic flowing into his ring. She braced herself against his shoulder as the spells fed on her strength. Her body shook from exhaustion so he lifted her up into his arms and walked over to Thorn.

_Can you fly us back to the castle without anyone noticing it_, he asked the red dragon, who just nodded. Once they were on his back he jumped off the ground and flew above the clouds, descending only when he reached the balcony of Azaelyn's sleeping chamber. Murtagh slid off Thorn's back and carried her inside and laid her on the bed, sitting down next to her. She looked up at him, her face pale.

"You cannot leave yet. I have to talk to Nasuada first. It probably wouldn't be smart for you to appear at the Varden's camp site unannounced," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. He nodded in understanding. Murtagh watched her drift off to sleep before he shed his clothes down to his pants and got into bed beside her, watching her serene form until he drifted off into a dreamless slumber…


	8. Visiting the Varden

**Chapter 7:**** Visiting the Varden**

The chance for Azaelyn to leave the castle came no three days later. Galbatorix sent her out to kill a man in Teirm who the king believed sold supplies to the Varden. With her white stallion, Artax, it took her about six days to reach Teirm. The stallion was more intelligent, quicker and stronger with more endurance than any normal horse could ever muster.

They rode through the nights, stopping only rarely, to get to the port city as soon as she could so she'd have enough time to get to the Varden without her father becoming suspicious. The merchant didn't seem entirely surprised when she came to his house. All the more astonished he was when she told him to take his family and take refuge with the Varden instead of killing him then and there. To get to the Varden she rode along the western shore of Leona Lake, followed by a cross-country ride until they reached the ocean and from their straight to the gates of Feinster. It was already very dark as the sun had sunk on her fourteenth day away from Urû'baen. She was good in time, the king wouldn't expect her back for another couple of days.

The moment she got off the horse the animal let itself fall to the ground, breathing heavily with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry my friend, but time was of the essence," she said quietly to him, stroking his wet neck. He nickered as if in understanding as she knew he did. She let the horse rest beneath the scattered trees that stood before the walls of Feinster, the new conquest of the Varden. The rebels themselves did not live within the city, but remained in their tents on the camp ground. It was an ocean of dark tents, she couldn't quite tell their color in this moonless night.

She snuck past several rows of tents before she spotted a big red one. That was Nasuada's. Six guards stood outside the tent, two men, two dwarves and two Urgals. She walked towards them not bothering to hide any longer. At the sight of her the warriors crossed their spears to keep her from entering.

"State your name and business with lady Nasuada," said one of the dwarves in a rather impolite tone of voice. Personally she found it rather amusing considering he hardly reached her belt. The smaller they are, the bigger they feel.

"My name is Azaelyn and my business is only for Nasuada and anyone she deems necessary to know," she replied. The guards started discussing what to do with her, when the leader of the Varden burst out of her tent.

"I thought it was your voice I heard! Come in Azaelyn, come in." Nasuada ushered her late visitor into her pavilion and sighed. "I'm so sorry for this. Jörmundur thought it important that I'm always protected," she said with yet another sigh.

"He is probably right," Azaelyn stated unconcerned.

"I take it you didn't come for a little chat from friend to friend so I suppose its best we come right to business," Nasuada said, sweeping a black strand of hair out of her dark face. Azaelyn gave a curt nod.

"Before we start I believe you should send someone to fetch that Rider of yours. I think it might interest him as well."

"Very well." Nasuada stood and walked towards the entrance of the tent before turning towards the other woman once more. "Would you mind the presence of Arya of Ellesméra, King Orrin of Surda, Nar Garzhvog of the Urgals and King Orik of Farthen Dûr? The dwarves arrived here only the day before yesterday. And Eragon's cousin maybe?"

"I might as well step out of the shadows now. Summon them as well," Azaelyn agreed and Nasuada gave orders to her guards. As they waited Nasuada told Azaelyn a little bit about the on-goings amongst the Varden. The loud thuds of a dragon's wings announced the arrival of Saphira and Eragon. While Saphira stuck her head through the opening on the far side of the red pavilion, Eragon came into the tent followed by a young man with brown hair and beard and gray eyes and an elven woman with black hair and green eyes.

"Eragon, Roran, Arya and Saphira, I wish to introduce you to an old friend of mine: This is Azaelyn a spy for the Varden and…" Nasuada seemed uncertain of how to end her sentence.

"…of high ranks amongst Galbatorix's retinue," Azaelyn finished herself and bowed to the three arrivals. "I have heard much of you, Eragon Shadeslayer, Saphira Bjartskular, and Arya Dröttningu. Even your name has come up in many conversations throughout Urû'baen, Roran Stronghammer."

_We are pleased to meet you Azaelyn_. Saphira inclined her head, Azaelyn returning the gesture.

"Nasuada, what is the meaning of such a late meeting?" King Orrin came rushing into the tent. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of his restlessness. He was followed by the newly instated king of the dwarves, Orik, and Garzhvog.

"I too would like to know the reason for this," Orik huffed and looked at Azaelyn only now noticing her presence. Again Nasuada introduced the woman that looked about the same age, but was indeed much older. Azaelyn noticed that she was older than any of the present people, save for Orik and Arya. She pulled herself up on the dresser that she had been leaning against and sat on it cross-legged, her back perfectly straight.

"I have come with news and a… favor to ask of the Varden, hence, of you all as well." She made a short stop to look in each of their faces. It was intriguing standing- well sitting- here in front of all the key members of the resistance. If her father ever were to find out it would be her end. "As I am sure, you are all aware of the newest Dragon Rider who stands under the control of Galbatorix." An angry snort came from the dwarf, the others didn't look to pleased either. "He has been freed from his oaths. Galbatorix is not yet aware of this, but it is only a matter of time. Now I am here to seek asylum for him amongst the Varden."

"Why doesn't he ask for it himself?" Orik asked irate. She smiled at him with a meaningful expression on her face.

"We both agreed it would be bad for his health if he were to appear here unexpected. Now that Galbatorix doesn't channel his power through Murtagh anymore he is no match against a more… experienced Rider and the armies of the Varden, dwarves, Urgals and Surdans." She looked at Eragon, who seemed a little torn. Good, at least he would not be entirely against a reunion with his brother.

"How do you know he is truly freed of his oaths?" King Orrin raised the question that seemed to interest the others as well.

"It is my spellwork that protects him from the king discovering his new true name," she answered patiently.

"You are a spellcaster?" Roran seemed surprised by this.

"I am most certainly, Stronghammer, and a good one if I may boast." She smiled at him. She didn't need to hear all the stories her father's warriors told each other about him to know that he was a brave man, a commanding presence with a quick, sly wit. He was the type of man she usually got along with quite well. Both Roran and Eragon had a certain air about them that not only showed their family resemblance, but reminded her very much of Murtagh. Oh how she missed him.

"How can we trust you?" Orrin looked at her sceptically. It was Nasuada who answered this time.

"Because she has served the Varden well since before I was born, endangering her own safety countless times. She has sworn fealty to the Varden and I for one would trust her with my life. She gives us the locations of the supply convoys that Roran takes care of so splendidly. Nor would I have laid siege to Feinster if she hadn't assured me that Galbatorix would not send reinforcements. If more reasons are needed I will give them gladly." The Varden's leader looked around at the people who all remained silent. Nodding she gave the word back to Azaelyn.

"You've heard I'm trustworthy therefore you can be assured Murtagh is no longer bound to the king and only awaits the opportunity to leave Urû'baen without drawing Galbatorix's immediate suspicion on himself."

"He's killed King Hrothgar! That can not go without retribution!" Orik yelled his face red with anger. She bowed her head lightly in acknowledgement of his statement, remaining totally calm at his raised voice.

"King Hrothgar's death was indeed tragic, but unfortunately unavoidable. Murtagh's commands had been to capture Eragon and Saphira and kill the leaders. He has bent his oaths to their furthest extend. He had to kill at least one though and he chose the one that would cause the least trouble to the battle." Studying each and every one of Murtagh's and Thorn's oaths finally paid of well.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the dwarf asked, still enraged.

"Dwarves are an old race, accomplished in battle unlike the short-lived humans. Losing their leader caused less chaos amongst the dwarves on the battle grounds than the death of a human leader would have. And I assure you, Master Dwarf, Murtagh has already been severely punished on his return in Urû'baen." She did recall that day, a while before they became a couple. Three spellcasters hadn't been able to heal the wounds of Murtagh's punishment. Orik seemed to calm down after she had smeared so much honey around his lips by elevating his race. A side glance towards Eragon and Roran showed them smirking at each other, obviously aware of her tactics.

"Oh for my sake let that boy and his oversized lizard come," Orik said waving his hand in a dismissive motion. Saphira growled slightly at the insult with the lizard for it automatically referred to her as well. Orrin and Arya didn't seem entirely convinced and neither were Eragon, Saphira, Roran and Garzhvog. Nasuada knew Azaelyn too well as that she wouldn't know that the older woman had always done what was best for the Varden, so she was confident this time would be no different.

"I'm not sure whether this is such a good idea," Eragon stated.

"He is your brother, is he not?" She asked him.

"Half-brother!"

"Half-brother then." She had no intention on deepening the subject, she'd find out sooner or later anyways. "None the less, having another Dragon Rider with the Varden would not only boost the confidence of your warriors and bring fear to the hearts of your enemies, but would also improve your chance against Galbatorix. Let us be honest, I do not believe Eragon and Saphira have the strength to beat the Dark King and Shruikan all on their own. Even without his Eldunarí- yes I know of them, "she said at the surprised looks on all their faces, then continued, "even without his Eldunarí, Galbatorix still has the advantage of over a hundred years of experience as a Rider and spellcaster. You on the other hand haven't been a Rider for much more than a year, if even. Murtagh might have even less time to count for him, but Galbatorix had his strength grow like he made Thorn's body age prematurely and he has learned useful spells for a fight against another Rider. Alone neither of you can face Galbatorix, maybe you cannot defeat him together, but your chances increase considerably." She ended her speech, looking into their faces once more. Silence filled the tent with a tension that could almost be cut with a knife. Azaelyn stayed calm on the outside, but inside she was nervous. This was the only place Murtagh could find refuge from her father.

_She is right. We need Murtagh and Thorn no matter what evil they have done, none of it they did out of their own free will. We cannot punish them for something they had no control over._ Saphira's words had a relieving effect on Azaelyn and she mentally smothered the dragon in thanks. She knew Saphira was thinking of Oromis and Glaedr. She could remember Murtagh talking about it. She had never seen him more distressed as on that day. And Thorn too. She sent Saphira a mental image filled with emotions of their regret and she lowered her head and a whining sound erupted from her throat.

After further discussions amongst themselves- including Eragon's oath to Orik to avenge Hrothgar's death, which only resulted in Arya saying that he could avenge the Dwarf-king's death by defeating Galbatorix, who was the reason for all this madness in the first place- Nasuada gave Azaelyn the final result, "Tell Murtagh and Thorn they will be welcomed." A weight lifted off Azaelyn's chest and she could finally breathe calmly again.

Garzhvog, who had remained silent throughout the debate spoke up in his thick accent, "One must call you Lady Silvertongue." There was obvious amusement in his voice. She saw Roran and Eragon glance over at Orik and nod in approval of Garzhvog's words.

One by one they departed, wishing their good nights. Eragon turned towards Azaelyn before leaving the tent, "I've been told that Galbatorix has almost discovered a name. I don't know whose, I wasn't told." She nodded, promising to look into that matter.

Lastly only Nasuada and Azaelyn remained in the tent. "You care much for him, don't you? Murtagh I mean." Nasuada broke the silence and once again proved to the princess just why she was such a skilled leader: Her ability to see through anyone.

"What makes you think that?" Azaelyn asked out of pure curiosity.

"I've known you for as long as I can think and I've never seen you push anything through with such persistence, _Silvertongue_," Nasuada answered, using the name Garzhvog had given her and that was sure to course through the ranks of Urgals. Azaelyn nodded. "The son of Morzan together with the daughter of Galbatorix! You two must be the couple of the century!" Nasuada laughed and Azaelyn made a pillow from her bed fly at the dark woman, making it hit her squarely in the face, grinning herself. They talked a little bit more, before Azaelyn departed again with a revived Artax on a slower journey homeward as night faded into morning. Now that she had finished this task a sinking feeling enveloped her as she became aware of the consequences for her relationship with Murtagh. He would be gone and she would be alone again…

*****

_**Alright so far. The next chapter is gonna be the reason why I rated this fanfiction M. Hope you guys don't mind. Please send me some reviews and thanks in advance.**_


	9. One Night Only

**WARNING: _For all those, who don't like reading adult chapters, I recommend waiting for the next chapter (there is nothing overly vital to the story in this chapter, so no one will miss anything if they choose not to read). _**

**_I've worked really long on this chapter, writing and rewriting at least a hundred times. I'm relatively satisfied with the result now, but I'm not so sure if I'm really so good at writing adult scenes. I guess I'll have to wait for your opinions._**

*********

**Chapter 8:**** One Night Only **

The twenty-one days away from Urû'baen had taken a toll on Azaelyn's emotions. She hadn't missed the city, but being gone for so long showed her just how much she missed Murtagh and Thorn. Her heart had longed for their closeness and she was so glad when the sun set on her first day back in the capital of the Empire. The moment the sun had disappeared behind the horizon she heard the thuds of Thorn's wings. She hurried to her balcony in her nightgown and opened the doors to see the red dragon land and Murtagh slipping off his back. He hardly touched the floor before she already lay in his arms. He had to stable himself against Thorn's foreleg.

"I …missed you …so …much," she murmured between kisses.

"And I you, _anamiet_," he replied. She drew away in surprise. He had never called her by the elven endearment _anamiet_ before. My love. She hadn't even thought he actually knew the word. She smiled up at him.

They were about to kiss again, when Thorn interrupted: _What about me? Did you not miss me?_She let go of Murtagh and walked to Thorn's head, petting him on the nose.

_Of course I missed you, Thorn. Forgive my being oblivious of you, it shall never happen again_, she said with her mind, leaning her head against his snout, his warm breath encircling her. He closed his eyes and a purring noise rang from his throat as she scratched his chin, where the scales weren't as hard and big. After a while she turned back to Murtagh who had been watching them in silence with a joyous look in his eyes. "Come, I have so much to tell you!" She said, dragging him into her room. Thorn squeezed himself in as far as his massive body allowed while they sat down on the bed. She told them of her meeting with Nasuada and the others.

"You actually got them to agree to our coming? I'm afraid I still underestimate you, love," he said smiling. He had obviously missed her just as much as she had him.

"Yes you do. It wasn't that hard to be honest. Orik was the biggest hurdle, but the others didn't seem to be so reluctant at the idea of having you back." She continued to explain her visit, also Eragon's mentioning of them only being half-brothers, which made Murtagh frown.

"I'll ask him once I'm there," he decided and pushed the matter away for the moment. It was his turn to tell all that happened here during her absence. There wasn't much new. Some of Galbatorix's advisors had pleaded with the king to send soldiers to free Feinster, but he had refused, concentrating his interest on Dras-Leona that seemed more important to him.

"Do you know when he intends to send you away on your next mission?" she asked and felt him tense. She freed herself out of his arms and looked at him. He nodded, all happiness vanishing from his eyes.

"He wants me to go tomorrow, in the early morning hours," he answered quietly. All of a sudden Azaelyn's heart felt as if it were about to burst. She was only given one more night with him. She nodded, fighting back the tears that threatened to come past the lump in her throat. She breathed in deeply to keep from crying and looked at Thorn.

_Would you mind leaving us alone?_She asked the dragon, who silently left the room backwards and flew away. Murtagh hadn't heard her conversing with his dragon and was a little confused by his departure. Azaelyn got up and closed the balcony doors then bolted the other door to her room shut so they wouldn't be interrupted. She had made up her mind. If for whatever reasons they should not see each other again then at least their last night together should be unforgettable.

"What's with Thorn? He just left and I cannot reach his thoughts." Murtagh stood and looked out the window. She walked up to him, standing right behind his tall, strong frame.

"I asked him to leave," she responded and he turned on her. He was about to question her further when he saw her nervous expression and her heavy breathing.

"_Anamiet_, what's wrong?" Her skin prickled at his use of the elven endearment.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just…" She didn't finish her sentence but kissed him instead.

Her kiss was more passionate than usually. His heart almost stopped as her hands came up and pushed the thin straps of her nightgown over her slender shoulders. The gown crumpled to the floor and she stood dressed only in her drawers before him. His gaze travelled over her body and he felt his own breath quicken, his heart hammering. She was beautiful. His eyes hung on a burn mark above her left hip. It was the flaming symbol of Galbatorix. He had branded her. He swallowed hard and his fingers traced the outlines of the pink colored lesion. Her breath hitched at his touch and her body shuddered with anticipation.

He had dreamt about it for so long, ever since he became old enough to actually consider girls as more than just revolting nuisances. He had wanted her all this time and now here he was standing not knowing what to do.

Azaelyn stepped up to him and started opening his tunic, slipping it over his shoulders. She started to open the first lace of his shirt, when he grabbed her hand. It startled her a little since he had been so passive the entire time. "You don't have to do this," she heard him whisper huskily, his voice darkened by suppressed want. A smile crossed her lips and she pulled his face down to her own, kissing him again, putting all her desire and lust into this one kiss. She was pleased when he returned it with just as much hunger, his arms wrapping around her bare back.

Murtagh's shirt was quickly opened and his pants removed so they now faced each other in their undergarments. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he lifted her slightly off the ground, his hands just beneath her buttocks, all the while kissing fiercely, her breasts pressed against his chest. He moved to the bed and let himself drop onto it with her, careful not to hurt her as he buried her beneath him. She loved the feeling of his weight on her, the way his touch seemed to burn every exposed skin of hers. His lips trailed down the side of her throat, covering it with hot kisses, making her breathe even harder. His hand began to trace up her side, cupping and massaging her left breast as his mouth moved over her collarbone down to her other breast, leaving a path of hungry kisses. She had to hold a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in pleasure and draw an unwanted audience, but she couldn't stifle the moan that escaped her. Her back arched automatically towards him, in an attempt to have him even closer. She felt her body becoming hot, her blood rushing. She could also feel his arousal against her leg and the very thought of it made her want more. She wanted him so badly. She wanted him to stop the aching, give her what she craved so much right now.

As if he had read her mind his hand slipped to her drawers, pulling them down, caressing her legs as he went, letting them fall off the end of her bed. He moved back up, but not without letting his lips and tongue slide over her right leg, hip and over her belly and breast, before claiming her lips again. She helped him out of his loincloth, her hands trembling from excitement and longing. Her fingers rubbed over the tip of his erection and he groaned against her neck, were he had buried his face, as his hips bucked against her hand. Encouraged, she wrapped her slender fingers around his shaft and stroked up and down, making him gasp and moan with pleasure.

"I want you," she whispered and it seemed to be the only spur he needed. He kissed her the moment he entered her, keeping her from screaming out loud. It did hurt.

He held still for a minute, waiting for her to loosen. When she didn't he quietly said, "_Logn, anamiet_," telling her to relax. His use of the ancient language really did slacken her muscles and he began to move in her again, slowly and carefully at first. She quickly began to enjoy it and signalled it to him by moaning blissfully and moving with everyone of his thrusts. He picked up pace, plunging harder and deeper into her, savoring the feeling of her all around him as he came close to climax. She felt the tingling sensation in her womb increasing, overpowering her as she was about to reach her own orgasm, yearning for release.

The time came three thrusts later and she cried out as the world seemed to explode around her in a wave of ecstasy and satisfaction as warmth and frissons of pleasure spread to every limp of her body before slowly fading. Her body quivered in the aftershock of her climax and she could feel Murtagh's body tremble as well. He held inside of her for a moment longer before pulling out and letting himself roll to her side, his breath heavy and irregular, his body gleaming with sweat.

As the excitement of their intercourse slowly ebbed out of her she began to feel exhausted and her body started to shiver from the cold air on her wet body. Murtagh grabbed the blanket and pulled it over the both of them, wrapping her in his embrace.

The rays of the sun seemed to wake the two lovers not a second after closing their eyes. They stayed in bed a little longer, just holding each other.

"I could come back," Murtagh said. He didn't wish to part with her any more than she did from him.

"No you couldn't. If Galbatorix ever finds out you're no longer under his control and he can not regain it over you and Thorn he will kill the both of you. I can live with the thought of you two being far away and safe, but it would destroy me to know you dead." Azaelyn felt the tears from the night before return to her eyes and this time she did not fight them back. Murtagh's arms tightened around her as she sobbed. Her chest seemed to contract with pain, making it hard to breathe, her insides were knotted and her heart hurt like she had just been stabbed through it. She missed him already and he was still in her arms.

They heard Thorn land outside on the balcony and got up heavy-hearted and dressed, Murtagh in his pants and tunic, Azaelyn in her nightgown. Outside they met with Thorn who cuddled with Azaelyn for a few minutes. He too had grown affectionate of the woman.

At last the lovers stood together for one last time before they parted for no one knew how long. They held each others hands, their foreheads touching each other.

"No matter how far apart we are, I will always love you," Murtagh said in the ancient tongue.

"And I you, my love," she replied, also in the ancient language. They kissed one more time, before Murtagh got on his dragon who lifted himself up into the sky with a grievous howl.

Azaelyn stood on her balcony long after they had vanished from sight. Her only light of hope was that they would be safer with the Varden than here and that she would maybe get the chance to see them again. But for now she was still bound to her king and father…


	10. Back with the Varden

**Chapter 9: ****Back with the Varden**

Murtagh could see the mass of gray tents from a considerable distance and was glad they were finally there, Thorn was getting tired. And yet his heart kept screaming to go back, it was reason that directed him further to the Varden. He could never be together with Azaelyn officially as long as her father was alive and the only way to destroy him was to work with Eragon and Saphira and the rebels.

When he came into sight of the Varden he watched Saphira fly up, Eragon on her back. They came towards them, probably to escort them and make sure the soldiers wouldn't try to shoot them out of the sky.

"We didn't expect you here so soon," Eragon shouted once he was in hearing range.

"Galbatorix wanted me to station in Belatona and wait there for you and the Varden to arrive," Murtagh yelled back. Together they flew over the tents of the Varden, landing on a huge clearing amongst the tents, big enough for Saphira and Thorn. The two Riders got off their dragons and walked towards one another.

"It's good to have you back!" Eragon said, pulling Murtagh into a hug.

"It's good to be back," he replied. But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yet your return dismays you." Murtagh's younger brother hit the nail on the head. A wail sounded from Thorn and he let his head droop.

"We had to leave someone behind who has become very dear to us. She is not free from Galbatorix's grasp." They walked towards a large gray tent, probably Eragon's. Inside a meal awaited Murtagh which he gladly accepted after the long journey, all the while telling Eragon stories from Urû'baen and listening to his brother's…half-brother's tales. So he was Brom's son not Morzan's. Murtagh had half expected it to bother him, but it didn't. It was Eragon's luck he didn't have to deal with the knowledge of a wicked father and- what was even worse- dealing with those who knew of your wicked father, but apart from that the news didn't stir any other thoughts or feelings such as jealousy or forlornness inside of him.

"So how did it happen with the name changing thing? How could it happen so quickly?" Eragon asked curiously.

"I had help and… there is a woman…" Murtagh didn't have to finish, Eragon understood.

"The one you left behind?" The older one just nodded. After a moment of silence, Eragon got up and walked out of the tent, stopping before disappearing entirely. "This is your tent, by the way. Make yourself feel at home. Nasuada wishes to speak with you once you've rested. I'll pick you up in three hours and bring you to her." Again Murtagh just nodded. He was glad for the free time. He had travelled for five days non-stop and fatigue was wearing on him. So he lay down on the cot, it was strangely cold without Azaelyn's body to warm him. He looked at the ruby ring on his right middle finger. It was all he had from her except beautiful memories.

He awoke when someone shook his shoulder. Out of reflex his hand wandered under his pillow were he usually had his elf-made dagger, Drac'ner. But it wasn't there. It was still in his boot, he had fallen asleep before getting the chance to take it out. Murtagh turned towards the person that had disturbed his sleep and looked up at his half-brother's face, so different from the way it had looked when they had met for the first time. He now had the slanting features and pointy ears of an elf.

"Nasuada's waiting," the younger one just said and took a step pack to make room for Murtagh to stand up, which he did with a desolate sigh. He could have slept at least three hours more.

Together they walked to Nasuada's red pavilion. The guards let them through, but not without throwing Murtagh suspicious glances. Two flaps of the tent had been rolled up for Saphira and Thorn to both stick in their heads. Though considerably younger, Thorn was almost as large as Saphira, thanks to Galbatorix. Murtagh's own strength, speed and senses had also been altered quicker than it usually would amongst Riders of human descent, which made him almost as strong as Eragon, but with the lack of experience and probably a poorer vocabulary in the ancient tongue. At least they would remain equals in swordplay. Training with Azaelyn had made him a lot better though he still stood no chance against her.

He bowed before Nasuada, leaving his head slightly downcast even after straightening his back again. "The only reasons why I agreed to let you take refuge amongst the Varden are- for one- that I trust Azaelyn and her decisions- and two- it can only be good for us to have another Rider and dragon amongst our rows. Do not expect everyone to welcome you."

"I don't expect anyone to welcome me, lady Nasuada," he said, raising his head to look at her. She was a very beautiful woman and the green dress she wore suited her well. His eyes travelled to her forearms which were thickly wrapped in bandages.

She seemed to have noticed his concerned expression, for she said smiling, "Nothing to worry about, just a little clash with a tribe leader." The smile left her features quickly and she resumed speaking in a more authoritative manner, "Are you willing to swear oaths of fealty to me and the Varden, Murtagh Morzansson?" He had been dreading this question because he didn't know what she would do after he answered.

"Forgive me my lady, but I cannot possibly pledge to anyone having only just freed myself of the last oaths I swore." He bowed again, lower this time. "But I can give you the promises never to do anything that might bring harm to the Varden in the ancient language."

Nasuada nodded. "I expected such an answer. Very well, I suppose your promises will have to do. Are you willing to let Eragon and Arya hear your promises and assure you try no trickery?"

"If that's what it takes, I'll oblige." They waited until Arya was summoned, Eragon never having left the pavilion. He made his promises in the ancient language and Thorn, too, promised to protect the Varden with all means necessary.

"That wasn't too bad," Eragon said as they stepped out into the cool evening air. They walked towards their own tents that stood next to each other. Saphira and Thorn had flown ahead to the broad, clear space where they had room to land and move about a little.

"No it wasn't. I was sure she'd have me thrown out or killed for my refusal," Murtagh replied, grinning slightly. Many of the Varden they passed look incredulous at them getting along well, walking side by side in peace rather than fighting each other.

Reaching their dragons they spotted some children that were dangling off Thorn's dorsal spikes, shrieking with delight. "He's discovered his fondness for little children a while back in Urû'baen when we visited an autumn festival," Murtagh explained after seeing Eragon's bewildered expression.

"It just surprised me since I've only ever seen him on the battle field so far. I guess I never really thought about him having a more… docile nature." Eragon shrugged. "You should come meet the rest of the family," he said all of a sudden and turned to walk into a different direction.

"Rest of the family?"

"My… Our cousin Roran and his wife Katrina. They've been eager to meet you." So Murtagh followed Eragon to another tent, smaller than his and gray like the others. There he met the rest of his family. Roran was a strongly built man with gray eyes like his own and brown hair and beard, Katrina a tall, copper-haired woman with a slowly rounding belly. She wasn't exactly a natural beauty like Azaelyn or Arya, but she had a certain demeanor that made Murtagh like her right away. He had heard stories of Roran in Urû'baen from soldiers, but he would have never imagined to be related to the fright of Galbatorix's armies.

When they finished talking it was already pitch black outside. "Before we turn in for the night, there is someone who's been waiting for you," Eragon said and led Murtagh to a long tent that suited as a stable. The horses were all tied to a long wooden rail that ran through the center of the tent. They walked to the far side of the shelter were a beautiful gray horse stood.

"Tornac!" exclaimed Murtagh and hugged the horse around its muscular neck. The stallion nickered merrily. "I thought I'd never see you again!" He petted the animal as it nibbled on his tunic playfully.

"Nasuada kept him safe for you. I guess she always hoped you'd return," Eragon said, placing a hand on Murtagh's shoulder.

"So did I. I longed for the day to be with Galbatorix's enemy once more. Yet I cannot fully enjoy it."

"Azaelyn strikes me as someone who won't be kept away for long." Eragon walked towards the exit.

"How do you know it's her?" Murtagh was a little surprised. He couldn't remember mentioning her name.

Eragon grinned: "Just a good guess."


	11. The Hatred of Time

**Chapter 10:**** The Hatred of Time**

Sparring with Eragon was still as good as Murtagh remembered it. They blocked each other's blows with ease, tiring at the same rate though now it took much longer than it did a few months ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. Much had changed, not all to the better.

The Varden had a peculiar tolerance of him. On the one hand they did not want the son of Morzan amongst them, particularly because of his working for the Empire a while ago; on the other hand they cherished him as a Rider. He didn't care either way. Those of importance to him accepted him in their midst: Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Nasuada and- as of late- Roran and Katrina.

"Stop, I have enough for now," Eragon yelled, leaning over, panting, his hands resting on his knees, his blue sword Brisingr still in his grip. Murtagh shoved Zar'roc's red blade back into it's sheath and sat on the frozen ground, not caring for the cold, his chest heaving as he drew as much of the crisp air into his lungs as possible. He too had enough.

"You're even better than when we first trained together," Murtagh acknowledged.

"So are you. You've learned many new moves since then." Eragon straightened, walking over to where they had put their waterskins. He took them and walked over to his half-brother, handing him his skin and drinking from his own. Murtagh took a long draught.

"Nasuada will not try to take Belatona anymore?" he asked once Eragon put his waterskin down.

"Not before spring. She had intended to conquer the city before winter broke, but as it is, timing wasn't on our side," the younger one answered. Winter had come early this year and Feinster had needed a bit more attention from Nasuada before leaving. Besides, the travel to Belatona would take the troops too long. He had hoped to see Azaelyn before it turned too cold, now he would have to wait for a long time to see her face once more.

They looked up as they heard soft whooshing sounds. Saphira and Thorn had come to the training field. They had been gone for almost three days, hunting along the southernmost slopes of the Spine. They landed before their Riders with thumps, the earth reverberating slightly from the impact. Saphira had taken to teaching Thorn everything she had learned from Glaedr, taking him on long journeys through Feinster's surrounding area, from the Spine to the sea and almost all the way to the borders of Surda. The dragons had taken a liking to each other, which relieved both Riders. They had been worried the two wouldn't get along, but they were almost inseparable now. Murtagh could understand. It was much like his relationship to Azaelyn; the loneliness welded them together. The last free dragons in Alagaësia. In his and Azaelyn's case, what connected them was their equal hatred for their fathers and the king, one and the same for her. She had told him that she used to suffer immensely under being associated with her father, an experience Murtagh had made himself. They had been made outcasts and loners. But she had learned to stand above such things and so had he. He no longer cared what people thought of him as his father's son. He was given the chance of cleansing his own name from the name of the Foreworn's leader and he wasn't about to fail.

The castle of Urû'baen seemed even gloomier to Azaelyn now. She spent most of her day in her chambers, usually reading in her spellbooks or some sort of hero's saga. It distracted her from the empty feeling inside of her.

She had also hung herself on the task of finding out whose true name- for she was sure Eragon meant just that- her father was just about to find out. It was a tedious job. Since he didn't trust her she couldn't get the information from him directly. Fortunately castle servants tended to know absolutely everything and most of them here were not skilled in magic or protecting their minds. But so far nothing useful had turned up.

With a sigh she closed the book about Eadric the Urgalslayer. She must have read it about a dozen times. She walked onto her balcony, drawing her robes tighter around her slim waist. It had gotten cold and winter ravaged the land of Alagaësia. She knew Galbatorix would move his soldiers to Dras-Leona where they were to be stationed for the inevitable fight with the Varden. He didn't bother about Belatona which was the next target of the rebels. But no one would fight in these cold months. The climate alone would level many men on both sides. It also meant that she wouldn't be leaving this castle before spring.

The king had been so furious about Murtagh's escape and his own incapability to find the young man's new name. He knew nothing of Azaelyn's involvement, she had learned the art of deceiving him a long time ago, otherwise he would have found out about her involvement with the Varden long ago.

She looked up at the full moon that bathed everything in a cold, bluish light. The stars looked incredibly bright tonight. She wondered if Murtagh, too, was looking at the stars in this very moment, grinning at her own foolishness. She had never really considered herself as much of the romantic type and here she was dreaming about such follies.

"My lady, you should come in, you'll catch a cold." Eorun stood in the doorway to Azaelyn's bedroom.

"I'll be fine. Maybe a cold is just what I need as an excuse to barricade myself here all day." Lord Turgon had returned only a few days ago and his overtures started to annoy her. He hardly left her space to breathe only leaving her alone at night. It had made her assume the habit of staying in bed long hours after sunrise, almost until noon. All so she wouldn't have to spend time with him.

"You shouldn't say such things. How would Master Murtagh feel if he knew you ill?" Her maid immediately regretted her words as silent tears rolled down her charge's face.

"He wouldn't know for he is too far away from me."

"Azaelyn." The princess turned around to look at her maid, who had been like a mother to her in the last thirty-five years.

"You haven't called me that in ages," she noticed, feeling a tightening in her chest. She dropped to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn't take the separation from her love. She couldn't take it being torn from a loved one again. Eorun knelt next to her, hugging her tightly.

"You'll see him again, dear. This war will end one day and he'll stand on the victorious side with the Varden and await you with open arms." The old woman petted over the jet black locks that flowed over her mistress's back like a dark waterfall, shimmering like silk in the moonlight.

"If things stay as they are, I will not live to see the end, Eorun." With that the princess got up and walked into her room, lying down on her bed, overcome by a sudden feeling of weariness. Eorun stood in the room for a moment, unsure what to do then decided to depart, leaving Azaelyn alone with her grief and misery. She looked at her cold, trembling hands. She had lost much of her strength over the past years and with every passing day more of her power seemed to flow out of her, weakening her bit by bit and she felt that time was running out for her, now quicker than ever before…


	12. A Devastating Battle

**Chapter 11:**** A Devastating Battle**

Four cold months had passed, had taken their share of lives, mostly little children and the aged as well as many wounded. The world has sunk into shades of gray, draining the hope and jollity from the Varden. It had been a dreadful winter for everyone.

Now spring was on a slow advance, the temperatures rising ever so slightly, the frozen ground's top layers melting into thick, brown mud that made a squishing sound whenever tread upon. Icy chills still haunted the camp, turning into howling winds at night.

The two dragons lay curled up in front of their Riders' tents, bright as jewels in the otherwise gray scenery. Their heads lifted in unison as the entrance flaps of Eragon's tent were brushed aside.

"For the last time, I do not wish some elf following me all day!" Murtagh shouted, stepping out of the shelter, Blödhgarm right on his heels.

"We've been discussing this for months now! We must assure yours and Eragon's safety," the elf with the midnight-blue fur and the yellow eyes called after him. The other Rider left his tent too, walking over to Saphira and leaning against her side, watching his older brother argue with a huge smirk on his face. Murtagh was stubborn, but so was Blödhgarm.

"I'm no child in need of constant caretaking!" Murtagh blurted, rounding on the elf who was just about the same height as he was.

"Nor have I said that! The fact still remains that neither of you can fight Galbatorix on your own. Queen Islanzadí has agreed to dispatch a few more of her spellcasters to protect and to help you. You should be honored." The elf's fur bristled against the cold morning wind.

"I am honored, I just don't have any need for it." With that Murtagh took off, disappearing amongst the tents, leaving an angered Blödhgarm behind.

"I don't understand him. Why is he refusing help?" said the elf to no one in particular. It was strange seeing him so flustered, since Eragon usually knew him as more of the calm and collective type.

"Could it have to do with the way some of you treat him?" Eragon suggested in an ironic voice, Saphira and Thorn nodding in agreement. Some of the elves in Blödhgarm's company still regarded Murtagh with contempt though he had proven himself to be different from his father. "I'll talk to him again, but I doubt he'll change his mind." With that Eragon set off to find his half-brother. He must have talked to Murtagh about this matter a thousand times over the winter, but always came to the same result.

He found the man on the empty training grounds, swinging Zar'roc with superhuman strength and speed at an imaginary foe. He halted in his movement when he spotted Eragon and sighed, putting the sword back in its sheath.

"Go ahead and say it: 'You should really let them help you!'" Murtagh yelled, kicking furiously at a rock on the ground, spraying up mud. "You won't change my mind. I do not want them around me, not if they always look at me like I'm a vicious monster that should be executed."

"Well since you already said it for me, there seems to be no point in stressing the subject any further. It's not entirely the sole reason why I've followed you though; you've been in a bit of an… explosive mood for a while now, brother." At some point- neither of them could remember just when- they had started to consider themselves brothers, even if they only shared their mother's blood.

Murtagh turned away from Eragon, staring off into the distance towards the northeast were he knew Urû'baen was.

"It's been over four months since we parted and with every passing day my longing grows to jump on Thorn and fly to Urû'baen just so I can see her for a moment."

"That moment being the one right before Galbatorix kills you, you mean?" Eragon asked though it was actually a statement. Murtagh sighed.

"That moment exactly," he answered bitterly.

Azaelyn walked through Furnost, a town built by the shores of Tüdosten Lake, the second largest inland body of water in the Empire, only Leona Lake was larger. Her father had sent her on another mission. Again she was to function as an assassin. She had to ask the people of the town for the whereabouts of her potential prey. He had obviously been warned for he had left Furnost no two hours before her arrival. She could track him down with ease, but she wasn't sure whether she should. She wasn't planning on killing him anyway so why waste time? Anyone who managed to anger the king enough to send her after him deserved a gold medal and not death. But she was curious what had enraged her father so.

With Artax she quickly caught up with the man, who had been resting by a little camp fire, a stew boiling over the flames.

"Will you not offer me some?" Azaelyn asked, startling the old man. He seemed to be around his late fifties though she wasn't entirely certain, she couldn't tell human ages as well as she used to. Azaelyn had the feeling that she recognized the man, but she couldn't think of where she had seen him before.

"Don't kill me, I beg of you don't kill me! I have grandchildren I'd like to watch growing up!" the man yelled, stumbling back, tripping and landing hard on the muddy ground. The feeling of mortal fear washed over her, his fear. His mental barriers were broken in the face of death and she had unconsciously probed his mind.

A memory came to her mind that was not her own. In it she saw the corridors of the castle in Urû'baen. Now she also remembered where she knew the man from; he was a servant of her father. Why was she supposed to hunt down an old servant?

The answer came in the memory. She recognized her father's office, a place were he rarely let anyone in, particularly people with magical skills, for he kept many recordings about his magical experiments in that room. The old man must have cleaned there. She could see how she, well, how the servant lifted a piece of parchment with intricate writing. He could not read what stood on it, but Azaelyn could and the next wave of fear that washed over her was her own.

She freed herself of the man's consciousness. "Flee old man. To Surda if you can make it, you'll be safe there." She said and dug her heels into Artax's flanks. The horse reared and broke into a hasty gallop. "_Fastr, Artax! Fastr!_" she shouted to the horse, telling him to go faster. If what she had just seen was true the Varden and Murtagh were in grave danger.

A messenger spurted through the Varden's camp. They had started to move again, now a few leagues away form Feinster. He came to a halt in front of Nasuada's red pavilion, panting heavily.

"News… for lady Nasuada… an army from the Empire… approaching! Northeast… from here!" he said, gulping for air. One of the Nighthawks, a human, ran into the pavilion where he stood before Nasuada and the two Riders with whom she had been speaking, the two dragons sticking their heads in through the open flaps on the other side of the tent.

"Why do you interrupt our meeting?" Nasuada asked agitated.

"My lady, there is an army coming our way from the northeast," the guard said. Eragon and Murtagh looked at each other with astonished faces. They hadn't expected the Empire to attack before the ground had hardened a little more. Fighting in this viscous ooze was sheer madness and would cost many lives on both sides.

"Thank you for bringing me this news. Assemble the troops and bring word to King Orrin and King Orik." On Nasuada's orders the guard bowed and quickly left the tent. "These are bad tidings. I had hoped we had more time before the next battle," Nasuada said, cursing under her breath. To Eragon and Murtagh she said, "Alert the elves, we will meet by the northern entrance in fifteen minutes." With that the two hurried back to their own tents and told Arya, Blödhgarm and the other elves of what they had just heard, hurriedly putting on their armors. Thorn and Saphira landed before them, their eyes showing worry.

_Something is not right. I have the feeling this is a trap_, Saphira said, her mind extended to all of them.

_The Empire is up to something and it won't be good_, Thorn agreed.

"We have to face them none the less," Murtagh stated and climbed into Thorn's saddle, Eragon following his example.

"We'll meet you at the northern entrance. Arya, do you want to fly with me and Saphira?" The elf nodded and climbed up behind Eragon. Murtagh had to suppress a smirk. He knew of Eragon's infatuation with the elf princess.

The dragons lifted off and flew to the north entry, there they landed just outside the Varden's camp where Nasuada, Orrin and Orik were already waiting. In the distance they could see the soldiers, clad in their crimson uniforms with the flaming symbol of Galbatorix stitched in gold on their chests. There must have been around three hundred. Not a very large army, but given the Varden's experience with the soldiers who couldn't feel pain they weren't all too confident in overpowering this battalion by simply outnumbering them.

The Varden's army marched towards them, intending on meeting them half way, led- amongst others- by Roran, which made the situation all the more precarious for Eragon and Murtagh who worried for their cousin.

_We'll attack from above_, Saphira told them and flew up into the cloudy sky with a loud roar, Thorn right behind her, their Riders brandishing their swords. They separated once they had reached the enemy lines, Murtagh flying further to the southeast, while Eragon and Saphira took over the northwestern part. Their dragons sprayed the soldiers with fire while the Riders took to locating and disabling any spellcasters amongst the troops, occasionally chopping off a head or two when the dragons swooped down low enough.

Murtagh was just in a heated battle of minds with a particularly skilled spellcaster when something black suddenly caught his attention in the corner of his eye, but before he could even turn his head to look the black thing crashed into Thorn's side with such force that the young dragon lost his hold in the air and tumbled to the ground, hitting it with a loud, earthshaking bang. Murtagh was thrown out of the saddle and- after he hurtled through the air, slamming into the dirt several times- came to lie on his back on the semi-frozen earth. For a moment he was too stunned to comprehend what had just transpired, but as shock wore off, it was replaced by burning pain. His left arm was immobilized, broken in several places, his head throbbed from a terrible concussion, his back, side and left shoulder hurt from crashing into the ground and his breathing became raspy and labored as his lungs filled with blood from where they had been pierced by his broken ribs.

But worst of all was Thorn's pain that seeped into him through their mental link. It made his vision darken. A strange screeching noise filled the air like metal scrapping on metal, intertwined with the scream of mortal fear and agony, the sound chilled him to his very core.

The sky was illuminated by a bright light of undistinguishable origin. He could see a female silhouette in front of him, heard words whispered to him, not understanding their meaning and then his vision faded entirely and he was swallowed by darkness.

Azaelyn leaned over Murtagh's unconscious form, pressing a hand to a seriously bleeding wound on his upper left arm. She looked over to where Thorn lay, Saphira and Eragon by his side. The dragon's left wing was nearly severed at the middle of his wing humerus and his right side, where the creature had attacked him, was torn open, large pieces of his skin hanging loosely from the wound, some bone revealed under the mangled flesh that bled profusely.

She had been too late to keep them out of harm's way, but at least the rest of the Varden would go victorious in this battle. They just fought off the remaining soldiers from the Empire. She looked back at Murtagh, feeling a stinging behind her eyes, but not allowing her feelings to take the better of her. Not just yet.

"Eragon!" she called over the other Rider who hurried to her side, gasping at Murtagh's condition. "Help me bring him to his tent, we'll have to do it by magic, so we don't move him too much," she instructed and Eragon nodded, not capable of tearing his eyes away from his brother's bruised and lacerated body. They lifted him into the air with a spell from the ancient language and carefully brought him back to the Varden's camp and to his tent. Saphira was helping Thorn to their clearing amongst the tents, a far more difficult job as she had to manoeuvre a staggering and howling dragon through the narrow alleys made by the Varden's tents, but she succeeded with Arya's help.

While Saphira and Arya tended to Thorn, Azaelyn had started to take off Murtagh's broken armor and the shredded tunic. The elves burst into the tent. More out of a reflex Azaelyn moved her body to cover up most of his though some of the elves still craned their neck to see past her.

"I've told him he needs our help," Blödhgarm said.

"No point discussing that now. Please leave." Azaelyn didn't want them in the tent, not when Murtagh was in such a state.

"I've told him over and over again," Blödhgarm continued as if she hadn't said a thing. Anger boiled up in her and she released it in a burst of magic that threw the elves back a few inches.

"Get out! Right now!" she hissed and they departed with condemnatory expressions. She rounded on Eragon, who turned a little paler as he looked into her almost black eyes.

"Shall I go as well?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes please. See what you can do for Thorn. It would be devastating if he lost his wing," she said with a sigh, leaning against the wooden table on which they had placed Murtagh. With a nod Eragon left. She turned to her lover, examining his body with magic to see where he had internal injuries. There were quite a few, the worst of which was the bleeding in his lungs and stomach, the last showing itself with a dark purple bruise forming from his chest to the region of his loins. She stripped him of his shirt and pants and herself of her tunic, pushing up the sleeves of her white, tight-fitting shirt. She took a leather band and tied her hair back, so it wouldn't get in the way.

Healing his wounds was tiresome work and she couldn't heal them all completely. She had to concentrate on the most severe lesions. Sweat ran down her forehead as her hands moved over his body repairing as much damage as possible. She felt herself growing weaker with every spell she cast.

Once she was satisfied she got a few towels and a bowl of water, which she warmed with more magic. Then she began cleaning him from the blood and grime, the towels and water quickly turning a brownish-red color. He had lost a lot of blood and it would take a while for him to recover from it. This night would not be peaceful for him, since much blood had flown into his stomach, which would force it out of him, unable to digest anything at the moment. He was going to vomit all through the night.

Lastly she bandaged his remaining injuries and dressed him in a clean, wide pair of pants and a fresh shirt. With another spell she transferred him to his cot and sat beside him, her elbows resting on her knees and her face buried in her palms. Silent tears streamed down her flawless face. She had never in her life felt such a fear as she did when she saw him and Thorn falling and not getting up again. Now she was just relieved to know that he would be alright, she did not care that there was a chance people from the Empire had recognized her and would be off telling Galbatorix that his daughter wasn't as submissive and loyal as he thought she was, in which case the consequences of her actions would be costly. But in this moment nothing else but Murtagh's and Thorn's lives mattered…


	13. Black Riders

**Chapter 12:**** Black Riders**

Eragon and Nasuada entered the tent about half an hour after Azaelyn finished tending to Murtagh. She still sat on the corner of his cot, one of her hands resting on her forehead, supporting the weight of her bowed head.

Eragon surveyed her. She wore black leggings, knee-high black boots and a tight-fitting white shirt though it was stained with blood and dirt. Her black locks were bound back, but some strands had loosened and hung in her grime covered face. Dark circles had formed under her eyes which were slightly reddened indicating that she had been crying.

When he had first met her Azaelyn had been the image of pride and strength now she looked haggard and tired and yet she still remained aesthetic, keeping an air of elegance and grace. Never had he seen a human capable of being compared to elves concerning beauty.

"How is he?" Nasuada asked quietly, handing Azaelyn a loaf of bread. After the strain on her power she would need something to eat.

"Unless I overlooked something crucial he'll be fine," the spellcaster answered, rubbing her brow and taking a bite from the bread. "What about Thorn?"

"We managed to repair the tendons and muscles as well as the wing membrane, but the bone is still broken. It should heal without further complications as long as Thorn keeps his wing still for a few weeks," Eragon told her and she just nodded.

"Do you wish for a tent?" Nasuada wanted to know, but she shook her head.

"I'll stay here. Just in case something went wrong. My magical power has been failing me lately." Azaelyn looked at Murtagh's sleeping face.

"How can your magic fail you?" Eragon had never heard of something like that happen. She looked at him from deep brown eyes filled with sorrow and worry.

"A curse, young Rider," was all she said. Nasuada motioned him to follow her out of the tent.

"We'll leave you to rest then." With that Nasuada exited the tent, Eragon on her heels. Thorn and Saphira lay on the ground before Murtagh's and his own tent. Thorn laid his head on the ground, his eyes filled with pain and concern for his Rider. A thick white bandage was wrapped around his folded left wing. Saphira rested her chin on the free space between his dorsal spikes where he'd usually have his saddle which Eragon and Arya had taken off.

_How is Murtagh?_ Saphira asked.

"He'll be fine," Eragon answered aloud so Thorn would hear it as well. The red dragon took a deep breath, exhaling with relief.

Murtagh woke in the middle of the night. His head was pounding and his vision blurred as he tried to lift himself up. Pain shot up his body from the ribs and he was taken by a sudden nausea. He leaned over his bedside and vomited, blood and bile pouring into a bucket someone had put there. He stayed in this position for a few minutes, his body shivering from exhaustion. He felt someone sitting on the cot behind him and a slender hand was placed on his shoulder. He didn't have to see the person behind him to know who it was. He'd recognize the soothing smell of pine, lavender and rosemary anywhere no matter how long he hadn't inhaled her scent anymore. He moved his hand over hers, noticing at the same time that his arm was obviously no longer broken. His shoulder still ached a bit.

He turned towards her and looked into Azaelyn's gold-brown eyes, filled with affection. She wore nothing but a white shirt of his. It was much too big for her and went over her buttocks, covering the most important, revealing her long, tanned legs. Her hair was open, falling over her shoulder slightly tangled. She looked as tired as he felt and yet more gorgeous than any other woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

"I never wanted you to see me like this," he said, his voice didn't rise over a whisper, his throat sore from throwing up. She gave him a small smile.

"Be glad I did otherwise you'd be dead now." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I was worried sick about you." He lifted his hand and wiped the tear from her face. It took him much effort and he breathed a little quicker when his hand came to rest at his side again.

"I wouldn't have left you," he said and received a kiss on his brow. She lay down beside him, slipping under his covers, interlacing her fingers with his.

"I know _anamiet_. I know," she breathed and her eyes closed as fatigue overpowered her.

Murtagh slept through the morning hours until noon having woken plenty of times during the night. He still felt tired and his entire body ached with every movement, but all in all his condition had improved.

_How do you feel?_ Thorn asked.

_Better. What about you?_ Murtagh replied. He hadn't seen his dragon yet and didn't hear Eragon, Nasuada and Azaelyn talking about him the day before.

_I've been better. The fall nearly tore o__ff my wing, but Eragon and Arya repaired most of the damage. I won't be flying any time soon though_. Feelings of regret flowed through their mental connection.

_All in good time, my friend_, Murtagh said, mustering a grin.

"I'm glad you seem to feel better." He looked up and found Azaelyn sitting by the table, a book in hand. She got up and came to his cot, sitting down on the corner. She still wore his shirt though she had wrapped her belt around it to make it more form-fitting. She looked really good, no longer so tired. Her eyes shimmered like molten gold, the color, he thought, suited her best.

"I have you to thank for that I suppose," he said and slowly sat up in his bed. She was about to say something, most likely in the direction that he should stay down, but she refrained from it. Instead she leaned towards him and kissed him.

"I missed you," she told him.

"I missed you too," he replied. "You had an impeccable timing of showing up," he continued and she bit on her lower lip.

"It wasn't exactly coincidence that I came in the first place and my timing could have been better. It was a five days ride from Furnost to here and crossing the Jiet River wasn't so easy," she explained.

"I owe you my life none the less. But what exactly happened anyway? I can only remember something black hitting Thorn and me. Then there was a bright light and a strange screeching. Apart from that I don't recall any details." Azaelyn nodded understandingly.

"Well, I believe I have a few answers, though- if you don't mind- I will wait with giving them until Nasuada, King Orrin, Eragon, Roran, Arya and King Orik have come. I dislike telling stories over and over again." He nodded in approval.

They didn't have to wait long for the others to appear, though the men- save Orik who could not find beauty in women who were not of dwarven descent- blushed slightly at Azaelyn's revealing attire. Roran actually snuck an approving nod in Murtagh's direction which made the Rider grin broadly. He was not one to brag with his woman, but it did lift his spirits when others admired him for his luck.

Eragon was the first to address the topic of this meeting, "What were these creatures?" So the black thing Murtagh had seen was an actual animal of some sort.

"They are the bearers of the name Galbatorix has been searching for, the one you asked me to look into, Eragon. And he's obviously found it now," Azaelyn said, her voice calm and deliberate, she had regained her cool demeanor. She began by telling them of the old servant she was meant to murder.

"So Galbatorix wanted him dead for the information the man found out?" Roran asked, a disgusted expression on his face.

"What kind of creatures are they?" Murtagh asked not having seen them directly.

"There were five of them and they looked a bit like dragons, save for them having only one pair of legs and being entirely black. They have huge wings and long necks and tails; they're even bigger than Saphira. And they have Riders, all of them clad in black cloth and dark armor," Eragon described their appearance.

_But it is their screeching that made my blood run cold_, Saphira said to everyone. She and Thorn were looking through the gap in the entrance flap.

"Mine too. It was like everything good suddenly drained out of me, leaving me only with despair and a fear of such intensity I've never felt before in my entire life," Roran continued.

_And the breath of those monsters smelled foul and poisonous_, Thorn contributed his findings of the mysterious creatures and their black Riders.

"They flew off when Azaelyn produced a bright light in the sky," Orrin said, who had been on the battle grounds with his cavalry. Many of his men had been lost to those monstrous beasts.

"None of us saw them coming. We felt absolutely no presence from them. We only knew something was wrong when the horses spooked and started rearing and bucking," Arya told them. She had been trying to detect a presence from these creatures throughout the encounter and so had the other elves. But like the Ra'zac they seemed to be able to conceal themselves.

"They are wraiths." Everyone looked at Azaelyn who was sitting on the chair next to the wooden table, her legs crossed. "Ghosts, shadows of what they used to be."

"And what did they used to be?" Nasuada asked.

"Dragons and their Riders." Shocked silence filled the tent at Azaelyn's answer.

"How- in Gûntera's name- could this be?" Orik had paled beneath his thick beard.

"How many are there? Just the five or are there more?" Nasuada wanted to know. She was leaning against the table, steadying herself, one hand pressed to her chest. Azaelyn locked eyes with Murtagh, who understood with a cold chill running down his spine.

"Thirteen," Murtagh said, not taking his gaze away from Azaelyn.

"The Forsworn?" Roran looked as unbelieving as all the rest. "But they were killed."

"They _are_ dead, Roran. Or at least their bodies are." Azaelyn shifted her attention back to the others in the room.

"How could something like this happen?" Orrin asked, picking up the dwarf king's earlier question.

"Have you ever heard of the 'Banishing of Names'?" Only Eragon and Arya nodded. So she continued, "The dragons who were not part of the Forsworn were so angry at their kin's betrayal that they combined their magic to banish the names of the thirteen traitorous dragons. Even when just reading one of their names they would not make sense and one forgets them right away.

"Deprived of their names the dragons lost everything that made them dragons, reducing them to mere beasts with magic over which they had no control. Their Riders could do nothing but watch their dragons sinking even further. At least five of the Forsworn went insane. Shruikan and Galbatorix's first dragon, Jarnunvösk, were spared."

"But what does that have to do with what they are now?" Eragon asked.

"What they are now is the result of a nameless dragon and his Rider dying, unable to find peace in the afterlife. It's why the mounts are referred to as the 'Nameless' or '_Sundablaka_'- Shadow-flappers- in the ancient language. The Riders have many names; 'Wraiths', 'Bringers of Fear', the 'Thirteen' and 'Black Riders' amongst others, the latter coming from their disguise, they themselves have no physical form, no consciousness that we could feel.

"So far these creatures existed in the Shadow World, a world between ours and the afterworld, but now Galbatorix has summoned them to aid his quest once more and with their true name he has full control over these wraiths. Since they don't have names of their own, their being is summed up in one true name for all thirteen." Again shock showed in all of their faces.

"But they can be driven off by light, can't they? You've done it." Roran looked hopeful, but Azaelyn shook her head.

"They can live in the light they just don't like it. I caught them by surprise, next time they'll be ready for it."

"Then… what else can destroy them?" Murtagh asked, his voice a little shaky. Had it possibly been the ghost of his own father who had attacked him?

"The lives of mounts and Riders are closely linked, unfortunately only in one direction. Trying to kill the Nameless won't bring anything, it's the Riders that bear the life and they can only be killed by a fatal blow with a Dragon Rider's sword, possibly by other elven made weapons as well, but I haven't found any reference to that."

"All demons below and above!" Orrin sank onto the second chair, holding his head in his hands. "We only have two Riders to face thirteen wraiths." His statement struck them all hard. He was right; they were greatly outnumbered and probably outclassed.

"It is even more difficult. The Wraiths carry dangerous swords themselves, fused with a magical poison of some sort. Anyone cut by such a blade will lose oneself to the shadows and become one of them unless given necessary antidotes and even after that a cursed scar would remain that will never fully heal." Azaelyn looked at the hopeless faces around her.

"I've had a cursed scar from Durza. It was healed by the dragons during the Agaetí Blödhren," Eragon said. Azaelyn gave a humorless laugh.

"A shade's curse is nothing like a Wraith's." She got up and walked towards the dresser on which a mug and a pitcher of water stood. She poured some into the mug and walked over to where Murtagh still sat on his bed.

"And I thought the Ra'zac were bad." Roran said, sighing frustrated.

"Well, we did manage to kill the Ra'zac." A loud crash followed Eragon's words. The mug Azaelyn had been holding had dropped to the floor, breaking into a dozen shards and spraying the water over the ground. She rounded on the two cousins.

"What do you mean, you killed the Ra'zac?"

"A while ago we flew to Helgrind to rescue Roran's wife, Katrina. We killed the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka," Eragon answered bewildered. She backed away from them, her breath coming in gasps.

They were about to ask what was wrong, when she spoke, "I must get to Helgrind right away." She grabbed her pants, boots, shirt and tunic and disappeared behind the folding screen, changing quickly.

"How could you not know that the Ra'zac are dead?" Nasuada inquired.

"Galbatorix kept it a secret from me. That rotter!" Never having heard Azaelyn call anyone by a foul name before, Murtagh was stunned for a moment.

"Why do you have to go?" he wanted to know. He didn't want her to leave just after arriving.

"I'm getting back what the king stole from me. I'm freeing myself of that bastard once and for all."

*****

I guess some- or perhaps most- of you have noticed by now that I have based my new villains on the Nazgûl from Lord of the Rings. I just loved them in the LotR movies, best villains ever! (Except for Dementors in HP.) In upcoming chapters there is at least one more thing- one of my favorite scenes from the first movie- that I based on LotR.

Well, I hope you had fun reading and I'll get some reviews in return.


	14. Listen to the Wind

**Chapter 13:**** Listen to the Wind**

"You are not coming with me, Murtagh Morzansson! You are still in a bad shape. You can hardly walk, how do you expect to ride on a horse?" Azaelyn stormed from Murtagh's tent, Artax's saddle in hand. Murtagh called over a young boy and told him to fetch Tornac for him.

"I don't have to walk while riding a horse, do I?" he argued. Azaelyn growled furiously, heaving the saddle on her stallion's back.

"You're not going and that is final! I forbid you to come with me!" She yelled rounding on him with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I am coming with you and _that_ is final, Azaelyn Narwensdaughter!" he yelled back using her full name as she had his. In a low voice he continued so only she could hear, "Besides, you're no princess amongst the Varden, you have no right to order me around." He added a sarcastic "my lady", grinning broadly at her enraged expression. He had never seen her like this and he kind of liked this side about her, it made her seem more human than she usually did.

_I do not mind him going, I just wish I could come as well_, Thorn said to the both of them. While Azaelyn shot the dragon a scathing glance Murtagh looked at her with a triumphant smirk on his face. _And if only to hear the two of you bicker like an old, married couple_, Thorn added with amusement, receiving two death glares this time.

"We'll come too. Just in case those wraiths want to take their revenge on you for driving them off," said Eragon, leading a brown horse he had borrowed, behind him stood Roran with Snowfire and Arya with a black mare, also a horse from the Varden. The boy, Murtagh had sent to get his horse, just arrived with a saddled Tornac, handing the reins to the Rider. Azaelyn let out an exasperated cry and leaned her head against Artax's white neck.

_I will accompany you as well_, Saphira announced.

"I want to come too." They looked around to see Orik come to them with a pony in tow.

"No! The pony is too slow. It'll take us double the time to reach Helgrind!" Azaelyn said sharply.

"Then he'll ride with me, Snowfire can take the extra weight," Roran said grinning and patting the white horse on the neck.

"Face it, love, you're outvoted!" Murtagh said, smiling.

"What about your people, Orik?" she asked in a last attempt to get rid of some extra company.

"You said yourself dwarves can function well without a leader. Besides my wife, Hvedra, will take care of my duties while I'm gone. I could do with another adventure." Azaelyn sighed.

"Fine, if you don't mind riding with Roran then you can come. You can all come since I don't suppose I can convince anyone differently." She turned to Murtagh again. "And you will tell us if you need a break. I don't want you falling out of the saddle from exhaustion." He nodded in agreement.

Nasuada and Orrin waved them off at the northern entry. Since she couldn't ride as quickly with all her escort it would take her about a week to reach Helgrind instead of the four days she had planed. On the other hand she wasn't so unhappy to have them with her, she had hated the idea of parting with Murtagh again and the others she could get to know a little better on the way. Thorn watched them leave with a forlorn expression. Murtagh looked back at him once more, his own features contorted with sadness.

"He'll be fine. The wraiths are after you and Eragon not after your dragons. They'll attack us, not the Varden," Azaelyn reassured him.

They kept at a comfortable gallop throughout the day. Around evening they reached the woods that grew along the banks of the Jiet River and decided to camp for the night. Murtagh gave a low groan as he got from Tornac, clutching his side, where some of the ribs were still bruised. He settled around the growing heap of firewood Arya and Orik were collecting. Eragon and Roran had left for a little hunt.

Saphira landed not far away from him and curled up a little. Only he and Azaelyn were left. She was spreading out their bedrolls on the ground and then moved to start a fire by muttering "_Brisingr_". The fire flared into life, burning as if it had done so for hours already.

"Can the Wraiths be told apart?" he asked all of a sudden. She stopped moving the bedrolls closer to the fire and sighed.

"You want to know whether you could find out which one your father is." He just nodded. "He carries a sort of helmet, the only Wraith to carry a helmet for he is their leader as he was during his living years," she informed him, and then added, "He wasn't there in the battle."

"You've got all this information from the old servant's memories?"

"Hardly. Much I've already known, but I never thought the king would seriously attempt to call them back into our world. Even though their souls are restless it is a dangerous task to bring someone back and ghosts aren't usually grateful for it." She sat down next to him, staring into the fire. He pulled her against him and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Do you think we can beat them?" He wasn't so sure of the answer himself.

"You have a fair enough chance. If you can destroy the Wraiths, Galbatorix will have no powerful allies anymore. He himself is strong but only as long he has his Eldunarí. If we can sever his bond to them, we should be able to beat him." It was an almost hopeful prospect though somewhat dimmed by the tasks ahead of them. Neither destroying the Wraiths nor severing Galbatorix's bond to his Eldunarí would come easy and fighting him head on probably wouldn't either. He pulled Zar'roc from its sheath, studying his only weapon against the Wraiths then put it back with a sigh. At least there was something to fight them with.

"What is it that he stole from you? What is in Helgrind that you want back so much?" This time she only smiled.

"You'll see for yourself soon enough. You wouldn't believe me anyway if I told you right now. Hell, if I hadn't been there when he took it _I_ probably wouldn't believe myself." She laughed with her clear, melodic voice.

After a while the rest of them returned to the camp, Arya and Orik with a stack of firewood that would keep the flames going through the night, Eragon and Roran with a dead deer, they prepared for eating and started cooking the meat over the fire.

They sat around the fire telling each other stories of their childhood or of their wild adventures. Arya contributed with a song in the elven language.

"What about you Azaelyn. Can you sing?" Roran asked.

"I guess I'm a fair singer, but I only know one song my mother taught me," she answered.

_Let us hear it then. I always love listening to music_, Saphira urged her.

"Alright, if you insist." They all nodded in agreement, so she began to sing:

_Time is a river that flows endlessly  
And a life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream_

_Shadows dance behind the firelight  
And all the spirits of the night remind us:  
We are not alone_

_Tomorrow: a sun soon rising  
And yesterday is there beside us  
And it's never far away_

_If you listen to the wind you can hear me again  
Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song  
High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves  
Listen to the wind, there's no end to my..._

_Love is forever a circle unbroken  
The seasons keep changing; it always remains_

_Spring will melt the snows of winter  
And the summer gives us days of light  
So long till autumn makes them fade_

_Remember the sound of laughter  
We ran together through the meadows  
Still we thought our hearts could break_

_If you listen to the wind you can hear me again  
Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song  
High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves  
Listen to the wind and I'll send you my love_

_Listen to the wind where the sky meets the land  
I'm not really gone I've been here all along  
High up in the trees in the sound of the leaves  
Listen to the wind there's no end to my..._

_Time is a river that flows to the sea  
And a life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream._

She ended her song. Everyone was quiet, passively staring either into the distance or into the flames.

"If you consider that fair singing I rather not want to know what you consider bad singing," Murtagh stated grinning. He hadn't expected her to sing so wonderfully, almost as good as Arya, maybe even the same. Yet she seemed a little depressed. Maybe because it reminded her so much of her mother. The text had certain references that seemed to mean 'don't forget me even after I'm gone'. Her mother must have known for quite some time that she would die. An awful burden to live with. He pulled her back into his embrace, careful not to hurt himself with his wounds. She smiled up at him and rested her head against his chest.

"Aye, you have quite the voice, considering you're human," Orik agreed.

"Was your mother's name Narwen Ríansdaughter by any chance?" Arya asked, startling all the others.

"That was her name indeed." Azaelyn wasn't really surprised that an elf would know her mother.

"So much for human then, your mother was a half-elf. She disappeared over fifty years ago and nobody knew where she went," Arya said intrigued.

_That would explain a lot_, Saphira commented.

"You never told me you had elven blood," Murtagh whispered to her, a little hurt that he had to learn this piece of information from someone else.

"It makes little difference to me. And it was not something I talked about much in Urû'baen. I guess it's become a habit of letting it slip under the table. I am sorry, _anamiet_." That soothed him a bit…

*****

**Okay, so there wasn't much action in this chapter, there'll be more in the next. **

**For all those who are interested: The song is called "Listen to the Wind" and is sung beautifully by Hayley Westenra. If you want to listen to it, you can do so here:** http:// www. youtube .com/watch?v=p0qvzBrwuYw** (without the spaces, obviously ^^).**


	15. The End?

**Chapter 14:**** The End?**

They must have slept no more than four hours, Roran currently on watch, when the horses began to neigh loudly, stomping the ground and rearing in panic. Experience on almost all of their trips had taught them how to resolve a camp quickest and it took them less than five minutes to have everything packed together. Almost at the very same time the horrible, blood chilling screeches erupted around them. Fear, despair and hopelessness crept through their minds. It was difficult to strain themselves against the urge to just surrender right away. It didn't take them long to figure out just how dangerous the Wraiths were: It was not a physical strength-though they were much stronger than any mortal being- that made them so deadly, but the way their cries caused panic, loss of bodily control and forlornness, their aura of terror that effected every living being. Their chief danger was the very fear they inspired in a man's soul.

"Head for the river!" Azaelyn ordered and everyone complied, driving their horses to top speed. Behind them seven of the Thirteen broke out of the brush mounted on black steeds draped in black cloth, blood running down their legs and out of their nostrils and their eyes glowing red. They raced for the banks of the fast current, Saphira circling overhead; ready to strike at the Wraiths should it be necessary.

_You must get across the river_, she shouted to them with her mind, panic in her thoughts.

"But how? We do not have the time for Saphira to fly us over." Murtagh looked over his shoulder. The Black Riders were right behind them, their swords drawn, crying their terrifying sound.

They neared the waters edge. "Do not stop, keep on running," shouted Azaelyn then mumbled something under her breath. In the next moment a layer of ice covered the surface of the water, forming a bridge. The horses sprinted over the slippery surface without hesitation, all to get away from the beasts coming after them. The bridge melted once they had crossed to the other side. They could see and hear the angered ghosts on the other bank. One of them rode forward. He wore a metal helmet with spikes reaching up and holes where the eyes and mouth would be.

Murtagh halted Tornac and turned towards the Wraith. "Father," he breathed. Azaelyn came to his side.

"Surrender Riders!" The voice that echoed across the river sounded inhuman, like a whisper, but louder, raspy and rattling.

"If you want us, come and get us!" Azaelyn shouted back. The Wraith cried again, lifted his hand and froze the water like she had done, riding ahead with the others right behind him. "_Adurneya abr Jiet, gwran eom du mawr gair; reisa du adurna rhag du saith!_" Azaelyn said, filling her words with magic. Waters of the Jiet, listen to the great word; raise the water against the seven! She instantly felt the power drained from her as the banks of the river dropped slightly and then thunder rolled in the distance as a great wave raced around the tree-hidden curve of the Jiet towards the screeching Wraiths, bursting the ice bridge, pulling them into the current and making them disappear from sight.

Azaelyn would have fallen off Artax's back from blacking out momentarily, if Murtagh hadn't grabbed her in time and pulled her onto Tornac.

"That… was impressive!" Roran acknowledged, his eyes big with disbelieve.

"I need something to eat," was all she could muster to say, her body quivering with fatigue, her breath shaky. She felt strangely cold and she knew she had just come a hand's breadth to her death. A spell like that used to cause her much less effort. Arya handed her a loaf of bread and she chewed on it thankfully while they continued at a slower pace now, Artax trailing behind Tornac. The stallion would not leave Azaelyn's side.

"Where did you learn such magic?" Eragon asked her.

"I had a good mentor," she simply answered. Murtagh had met her mentor Barwick. Had he been the one to teach her such spells? Yet, as he had learned, the words alone weren't everything, they were useless or dangerous if the caster could not put the necessary energy into them. How strong was Azaelyn? Not even the elves could keep up with her skill, so where did her strength come from?

"You are full of riddles, Azaelyn-elda," Arya said, giving her the gender-neutral honorific of great praise.

"Before this trip is over you will have uncovered a few of them. At least I hope you will." Azaelyn's words made Murtagh wonder just how much he didn't know about her yet.

"Why don't you just tell us and be done with it?" Orik asked, riding on Snowfire behind Roran. The princess of Alagaësia shook her head though.

"It would be unfair to raise your hopes for anything if this trip turns out to be useless."

"So whatever it is that we're looking for will improve or chances against Galbatorix? Is it your powers? The ones you said fail you because of a curse?" Eragon turned in his saddle, having been in the lead, to look at her.

"Something in that direction." Saphira landed next to the group of riders. Eragon and Arya had to calm their horses by use of the ancient language. Snowfire, Tornac and Artax seemed to be used to dragons by now.

_It is boring to fly in circles all the time, you are too slow_, she growled.

"Forgive me, Saphira Bjartskular that would be my fault. We'll continue in a quicker pace once I regained my strength," Azaelyn apologized to the blue dragon.

But it took her almost three more hours to recover her lost energy. By then the sun was rising in the east. It would take them about five more days to reach Helgrind, assuming of course nothing went amiss. Unfortunately things were bound to go bad, considering that half of Galbatorix's force was now stationed in Dras-Leona and the surrounding area. But they didn't have to worry about that just yet.

"We should stay clear of any villages. Though we are all strong, we couldn't last against an entire army if Galbatorix finds out we're here," Roran said. They all nodded in agreement. Azaelyn remounted Artax. Though her strength hadn't returned fully she felt capable of riding alone again. Not that she had minded Murtagh's closeness.

"Will the Wraiths return?" Orik asked.

"I do not know. The waters will have carried them off far enough for us to get a good head start, but we are out of luck if they pursue us on the Sundablaka," Azaelyn answered.

"We could take a different route. It'll take us longer, but it might confuse them," Murtagh suggested. She did not like delaying their arrival at Helgrind, but changing course probably was the wiser choice. So they left the banks of the Jiet River which would have led them directly to Leona Lake and rode out onto the plains. Their detour would bring them considerably close to Urû'baen, but as long as they remained hidden it shouldn't become much of a problem.

Three days passed uneventfully. They had come by Melian quite a while ago and would reach the northernmost tip of Tüdosten Lake within another one and a half days of riding. The horses exhausted much quicker as they had to tread through the thick mud that sometimes reached up to their ankles.

"There is a small town about an hour's ride directly ahead of us. We should pass it, but rest close by, disguise ourselves and buy some provisions. We are running short on food and drink," Azaelyn said.

"Aye, I'm already all out on bread and I think Snowfire could really use a break." Roran patted the stallion's neck as it waded through the deep sludge. Eragon relayed the plan to Saphira who accepted it grudgingly, complaining that they'd already be on their way back if they could all fly.

Darkness still fell early over the land. They made camp about a league away from the town, sheltered by a rock formation which was surrounded by firm, fairly dry ground. Arya and Roran volunteered to go and buy them new supplies, the others remained. Murtagh was rubbing his sore side. Though he had been healing his wounds bit by bit they still ached and he didn't dare to put more energy into his self-healing, not if the Wraiths could return at any moment. He felt Azaelyn's gaze on him and he looked up into her concerned eyes. "Your wounds are not healing as fast as I hoped they would. They must have been worse than I thought when I tended to you after the battle."

"No need to worry. I've been off worse," he said and mustered a weak smile.

"I know." She didn't smile back, but stared into the flames, deep in thought. "How could they have known that we left the Varden?" she suddenly asked no one in particular. He knew she meant the wraiths. He hadn't thought about it, but the question made sense. They hadn't exactly left in a great turmoil and at a time when the wraiths would have had to expect them to recover from the battle the day before. So how could they know that they had left the rebels and how could they have known where precisely they would make camp? It wasn't at the narrowest spot of the Jiet, so strategically for crossing it their location wouldn't have made any sense.

"How could they have found us?" Eragon voiced the question, Murtagh had been thinking.

_So little is known of those who have passed on and have now returned to our world; they will have many abilities we couldn't possibly imagine_, Saphira said.

"No use breaking our heads over the subject now. They obviously haven't noticed us changing course," Orik commented yawning. They fell into silence. Eragon retrieved Brisingr from its sheath and began polishing it, the firelight made the blue blade shimmer in a greenish hue. After about an hour Arya and Roran returned with food and drink, most for the travel, but also some for supper. It wasn't much more than water and bread, but even that could taste tremendously good if one had nothing else.

"I wanted to buy some meat as well, but Arya was against it," Roran said with a scowl, taking a bite from a dry bread crust.

"Elves do not eat meat," Arya protested.

"But humans do!" Roran replied. They argued a little while longer before they both agreed to disagree. Again, silence fell over the camp, each one of them thinking of the past events and the ever nearing future. It was late when they all lay down to sleep; the fire had burned down to smoldering remains, glowing weakly in the darkness.

Murtagh must have slept about two hours, when Eragon shook his shoulder, waking him for his night watch. He settled down on a large rock, overlooking the vast land. His gaze travelled from the cloudy, rain-promising sky to his comrades, lingering on Azaelyn's sleeping form. She was such a mystery even to him or perhaps especially to him. Yet at the same time he felt like he knew her better than anyone else. He saw the way she behaved with others close by; resenting close contact, an unreadable expression, a cool and calculating demeanor. When they were alone- or amongst people she cared for a lot- she was warm-hearted and open. But so far she had shown weakness only to him, sought only his touch, his closeness.

_She cares very much for you, Murtagh_. He was startled for a moment for Saphira had never conversed with him directly without speaking to others as well.

_What makes you think that?_

_Azaelyn put everything at stake to rescue you when the Wraiths attacked_, Saphira answered.

_Put what at stake? Has she told you anything?_ He admitted to be curious, but Saphira just shook her head.

_She didn't have to_, the dragon just said.

_What is it that you know, Saphira?_ It was frustrating not getting any answers. Thorn was also hard to question on Azaelyn, for he too seemed to know more about her secrets.

_You will see soon enough, young one_, with that she broke off their connection, making it impossible for him to ask further questions without having to speak them out loud and waking the others.

With a sigh he shifted his attention back on the others, occasionally scanning the horizon. It wasn't more than half an hour later that the horses began to neigh and whinny in panic, scrapping the ground with their hooves. He understood the situation right away and jumped off the boulder he was sitting on. Arya, Eragon and Azaelyn were already packing. Roran and Orik had just been woken by the others and scrambled to their feet, hurrying to wrap everything up. It was a fortune that the horses were so sensitive to the aura of terror. They themselves took much longer to feel the presence of the Wraiths, usually hearing their cries first. This time was no different.

The horrible screeching sounded around them as they swung into their saddles. The animals didn't even wait for the signal to run.

The Forsworn- seven of them- and their mounts broke out of the darkness, closing in on the fleeing group. The horses halted sharply as something swooped out of the sky right in front of them. Two Sundablaka and their Riders were flying overhead.

Never had Murtagh seen anything like these beasts. Their resemblance to dragons was vague and narrowed down to their huge black wings, the long necks and tails, which were equipped with four long spikes extending near the ends, each spike half the height of a tall-grown man. Their heads were oval formed, long, sharp teeth protruding from the sides of their strong jaws. They had only one pair of legs, their claws resembling a raptor's talons, their scales were of a dull black color and they had only a few spinal spikes jutting out of their backs at irregular intervals. They did not look particularly strong compared to a true dragon yet Murtagh had learned first hand that they were much more powerful than they appeared. Their pupil-less eyes gleamed in a menacing bright red.

Saphira dove at one of them and he could see that these monsters were almost one and a half times her size.

"Saphira, no!" Eragon yelled, but his cry was drowned in the loud roar of the Sundablaka as it attacked Saphira in return, clawing at her with its talons and swinging its tail with the deadly spikes at her, the other coming to its aid. Two against one.

They were now surrounded by the seven Wraiths. None of them carried a mask. Murtagh wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed.

"You have nowhere to run! Give up!" One of the Wraiths said in the otherworldly voice.

"We won't give up without a fight!" Eragon yelled back, brandishing Brisingr. Murtagh followed his lead and drew Zar'roc. The red blade seemed to shimmer with a thirst for blood, but he couldn't imagine wraiths to bleed even if they managed to actually hit them. The Wraiths pulled their own swords from under the black cloaks, their hands covered by metal gauntlets, if there were any hands at all. Their blades were all as dull a black as the scales of the Sundablaka, the edges slightly worn, but none of them doubted the weapons' proficiency.

The Black Riders got off their horses, which stood motionless- like normal horses never would- in a circle around them, preventing anyone from fleeing, while Saphira fought the two Nameless. They dismounted as well, the rest of them drawing their weapons though they were probably useless against the Wraiths. Seven to six.

With loud screeches the black figures charged them, metal hitting metal. Murtagh was astounded by their physical strength which far exceeded his own.

"Die Red Rider!" the Wraith he fought hissed. Eragon was facing two, but he still had the benefit of Galbatorix wanting him alive for Saphira's sake, but all the others were worthless to the king, himself included. He pushed the Wraith back, an effort that left him panting and his side aching. Only Eragon and he owned weapons that could kill the Wraiths, the others could merely defend themselves. This was one fight he didn't know how they could possibly win…

*********

**I know I totally used the Arwen scene, but I loved it in LotR. I actually found a translation of what she said in the movie and then translated it into the Ancient Language after making quite a few adjustments to make it fit. Hope you liked the chapter. Review please.**


	16. No more Secrets

**Chapter 15:**** No more Secrets**

Murtagh staggered back as the Wraith clashed blades with him again. His foe seemed to become stronger with every blow he dealt, pushing the Dragon Rider farther back. After another blow he felt Eragon's back up against his own.

"This isn't going very well, is it?" Eragon said as if discussing the weather.

"Oh I find it rather entertaining," Murtagh replied just as casually. They both knew the other was trying to cover up the hopelessness of their situation.

"Brisingr!" Azaelyn shouted next to them and a jet of bluish-white flames engulfed one of the black figures who began to screech loudly in anguish, but only attacked with more vigor.

He ducked, pulling Eragon down with him as the sword of his attacker whizzed by so close above their heads that he could feel the rush of air tug at his hair. In the next moment he felt himself being pushed away by his half-brother as the blade of another Wraith hit the ground where they had been sitting only a split second earlier. He quickly jumped back to his feet, parrying another blow with Zar'roc. A sickening crack erupted and pain shot up his arm as his wrist gave way under the pressure from the black blade. He quickly moved back, out of reach of the Forsworn. He grabbed Zar'roc with his left hand. It was his weak side, but he had no other choice; healing his wrist right now would be his death sentence.

"Murtagh, watch out!" Eragon's warning came just in time as a second Wraith attacked him from behind. He twisted around, sidestepping at the same time, now facing both his attackers. Loud roaring came from above, but he didn't dare look up to Saphira and the Sundablaka.

The Wraiths charged him, but the one to his right was held back by Azaelyn who threw herself in his way and blocked him with her own sword. The second ghost was not halted by his companion's disablement, but instead of attacking Murtagh with the sword, as he expected and prepared for, the young Rider felt an ice cold, metal-clad hand close around his windpipe, squeezing hard and lifting him off the ground.

Out of reflex Murtagh let Zar'roc fall to the ground and reached up to the hand that held him, trying to pry the deadly fingers from his throat, but they were tight as a vice. For a second he caught a glimpse of the others. They all were in similarly bad situations; Arya had been pressed to the ground, the Wraith standing above her with a raised blade, Azaelyn tried to keep two of them off of her, Roran and Orik were standing back to back, both breathing heavily from depletion, Eragon fought with all his might, but he too had no chance against his foe.

The world began to grow dark and hazy as the lack of air continued for another few seconds. Murtagh felt light-headed and he was about to pass out when he saw Eragon swing around, breaking free from his attacker and taking a swipe at the backside of Murtagh's assailant. With a screech of pain the Wraith dropped Murtagh, who fell to the floor hard, burying his broken hand under his body and sending another wave of pain through him. The pain had a reviving effect though, dispelling the darkness that had been clawing at the edges of his vision. With one swift motion he raised himself onto his knees, grabbed Zar'roc and rammed it through the Forsworn's chest, right were the heart should have been, the blade's tip protruding from the back of the shoulder. He fell back, hitting the ground with a soft thud and saw how bright light shone through the punctured cloak were Zar'roc was still stuck. As the Wraith began to screech in agony his comrades joined in, backing away, writhing as if they could all feel the dying Wraith's pain as well. They climbed on their mounts and rode off. The Sundablaka overhead roared loudly and turned away from Saphira, flying into the darkness.

For a second she seemed to consider following them, but remained. The horse of Murtagh's slain enemy dissolved into a cloud of black mist. He looked back up at the Wraith he had pierced; with a final screech it too disintegrated into the strange black vapor which was carried off by the wind, leaving behind a pile of torn cloth and a few pieces of black armor, the black blade had disappeared. Zar'roc was stuck in the dirt, gleaming blood red.

They all stared after the Forsworn, still unbelieving that they had just survived the assault and destroyed one of them in the process. Murtagh stood up with effort, his entire body felt sore and stiff, his knees soft and unsteady. His wrist was swollen and tender, his throat bruised. He summoned a bit of his leftover strength and repaired the bone, letting the swelling abate on its own. Fortunately wrist bones were easier to heal than most of the others in the body and didn't consume too much energy. An arm clapped him on the shoulder, almost making him fall over again.

"Nicely done and not a second too late," Roran congratulated. He had narrowly avoided being impaled by a black sword and only because the Wraith had backed away at that moment.

"That was a good move, lad," Orik agreed. If the dwarf had ever been against Murtagh, none of it showed now. Once Arya and Eragon had given him their praise- though he had argued vigorously that he wouldn't have been able to do it without them, particularly Eragon- he looked around to see Azaelyn, who was standing beyond the ring they had built around him. She had her head bowed and for a second he was worried that she might have been hurt or that she was angry with him for some reason, but when she looked up he could see tears of relief spill down her cheeks.

The others moved out of the way as she walked up to him quickly, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, here and now, in front of all the onlookers. He was momentarily too stunned to do anything, but then he returned the kiss as the others whooped- all but Arya who scowled at the men for such distasteful behavior.

"I thought I would lose you," Azaelyn whispered, as she broke the kiss, still holding on to him. She must have seen him suspended in air, held up by the Black Rider.

"_Néiat eto, néiat oll, anamiet_" he replied in the ancient language, burying his face in her black tresses. Not yet, not ever.

"While you two lovebirds are busy, I suggest we go catch our horses, they bolted after the horse-ghosts no longer stood in a circle," Roran said and started walking in the direction the horses went in. Artax was standing there, the only horse that hadn't run off too far and returned right away.

It didn't take them too long to find their mounts. They hadn't run quite as far as they had feared. Eragon went to tending to Saphira who was covered in scratches and bite marks, a part of her wing membrane torn. They chose to stay for the rest of the night.

"Should we change directions again?" Arya asked.

"It might be best. From here we can ride straight across the plains to Leona Lake and from there to Helgrind. It'll take us another eight to nine days unless we travel day and night, then we might make it in about five," Azaelyn answered, settling down by the fire they had built. Rocks and a log kept them from sinking into the muddy ground. They had been travelling day and night most of this trip, resting only when they were too tired to continue. It reminded Murtagh of his and Eragon's escape from Gil'ead across the Hadarac to reach the Beor Mountains where the Varden had been hiding.

"We should make a few more stops in between though, to regain our strength. I for one don't want to be completely drained should we have to face the Wraiths again," Roran stated and the others nodded. Again they had managed to find them for unexplainable reasons.

"I wonder what they will call you from now on. Maybe something like _Wraithslayer_," Orik mussed, facing Murtagh. "It would have a nice ring to it and a reference to your family ties with Eragon, the Shade_slayer_."

"They can call me whatever they want. I didn't kill the one I wanted," he replied, starring into the fire. They didn't have to ask which one he wanted; their masked leader, the one who had been known as Morzan. His father.

They weren't even in visual range of Leona Lake yet when they spotted the first squadrons of Galbatorix's army that had been sent to protect Dras-Leona and its surrounding.

"Saphira says it continues like this all the way to the shores of the lake," Eragon relayed what his dragon had seen from above.

"It's a day's ride from here to the shores," exclaimed Roran dumbfounded.

"There must be thousands, it not tens of thousands," Murtagh guessed. With a sigh he rolled back behind the tree he was hiding behind from sharp eyes. They were a few leagues away from the troops, hiding in a birch grove. "This is going to be fun trying to get passed them all," he said with a sarcastic note in his voice.

"How can there be so many? When I first came to the Varden, the king's armies counted no more than sixteen thousand when fully marshalled. He couldn't send so many men to Dras-Leona without leaving Urû'baen and other important cities unprotected," Eragon wondered aloud.

"He's been recruiting more forcefully in the last few months, because the Varden have grown so strong," Azaelyn explained, "all who are bound to him, cannot join the rebels."

"I know Dras-Leona is the center of religious worshiping, but not even that could make it so important to Galbatorix to send so many men," Arya said.

"Unless they aren't really here to protect Dras-Leona, but rather Helgrind itself," Murtagh suggested, looking at Azaelyn who held his gaze. "Why does Galbatorix go through such lengths to keep you and the Varden away from this place?"

"Because in Helgrind lies his leverage against me and the source of much of my power. Thirty years I had to fear the Ra'zac destroying it, now that the Varden are marching in this direction he must keep it safe to keep me under control. Most likely he knows by now that I'm no longer loyal to him. He'll send someone- the Wraiths most likely- to do what the Ra'zac would have done if they were still alive."

"What were the Ra'zac supposed to do? No more secrets Azaelyn, I want to know the truth." Murtagh's voice had risen slightly as anger flared inside of him. She knew everything about him, but he nothing of her and he was tired of her secrecy.

She remained calm as she answered, "They were supposed to kill my dragon."

*****

It's out! Now you guys know! Congratulations to Archillon Shadeslayer, who has figured it out a while ago.


	17. The Rock of Kuthian

**There's really no excuse for having taken an eternity to upload this chapter though it has been done for quite some time. I'll be honest and tell you that I've currently lost interest in this particular story, I have, however, written it up to chapter 33 and I intend to upload the chapters that I've got done. I'm working on a new story at the moment that I like a lot better and that will probably be ready for upload soon. It's a _Harry Potter_ story, so sorry for all fans of the _Inheritance Cycle_.**

**Chapter 16: ****The Rock of Kuthian**

Stunned silence filled the grove. Azaelyn's revelation had struck them all dumb. "How… How can that be? How can you be a Rider? The green egg never hatched," Murtagh said, regaining his voice.

"When Brom set out to steal Galbatorix's eggs about fifteen years ago, there were three eggs left. Little did he know that originally there were four and that one had hatched almost one and a half decades earlier. And those that knew no longer wander amongst the living or have been silenced by other means, the king made sure of that.

"But Galbatorix could not guess our true names. So, out of fear that we would oppose him, he locked my dragon away in a dungeon beneath Helgrind, putting it in a magical slumber that would last until I came into reaching distance of my dragon. He let the Ra'zac live in Helgrind to make sure I wouldn't try to free my companion.

"Though we have been separated for many years, we have grown stronger, the dragon through Galbatorix's magic." She did not tell them, however, that her dragon was kept alive with Azaelyn's own power, not as much as a dragon would usually require- that would have killed her long ago- but enough to weaken her bit by bit and as the dragon grew stronger, the more energy it needed from her. Lately the amount of life force consumed by Galbatorix's spells had been so great her magic was starting to fail her at times, as she could no longer summon the energy needed for particular spells.

"Why would he fuel your dragon with power?" Eragon asked bewildered.

"If he ever managed to find our true names he would release us and force us to be his servants; his strongest by far. Then our strength would be useful to him."

"But you don't have the _gedwëy ignasia_," Arya pointed out.

Azaelyn lifted her right hand, looking at it sadly. "I used to have it. It faded along with most of my connection to my dragon, part of Galbatorix's spells. Now that I'm fairly close I can feel my dragon's presence again in my mind, though still very weak."

A long silence fell over them until Roran broke it; "We should see if we can overwhelm a few soldiers. If we have their uniforms and cloaks we might make it through the camp undiscovered. The less attention we draw to ourselves the better." Arya got up on his words and declared she was going to take a look around, see how best to pursue Roran's plan. She would go unnoticed in the nascent darkness of night. The others settled down for the night, tomorrow would be a difficult day. No fire would be lit tonight and Saphira would have to keep her distance. She was too large to fly here without drawing attention to herself and them.

Murtagh let his eyes wander through the camp only to find that Azaelyn was gone. He asked Orik where she had gone. The dwarf just pointed towards the camps of the soldiers. Fear erupted in him. Had she gone to try and rescue her dragon alone? Not even she could defeat the entire army on her own. He quickly ran in the direction Orik had pointed out, but his fear was needless. She sat on a small hill overlooking the Empire's army, invisible to them through the dark background the birches created. Her legs were drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. He sat down next to her cross-legged.

"Why didn't you tell anyone? Why not me?" The question had been nagging at him ever since she had revealed her secret to them.

"I did not want to give anyone hope if it turned out to be futile, if Galbatorix would kill my dragon before we reached it. Nothing is worse than hope being ruined, particularly in such times of war." Her gaze shifted from the hundreds of fires that gleamed in the night like jewels and focused on him. "It had nothing to do with you apart from me wanting to spare you the disappointment; I could imagine you've had more than enough of that in your life."

"I wasn't always disappointed." She looked at him questioningly, so he continued, "I've loved you since I became interested in girls and now here I sit by your side- according to elven tradition- as your mate. It took time, but I wasn't disappointed." Without saying another word, she placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards her for a deep, impassioned kiss. As it became more and more desirous, she let herself fall backwards onto the hard earth, covered by stubbles of grass, pulling him down with her so he lay on top of her. If he hadn't been worried about getting onlookers any moment he would have taken her here and now. As it was, it stayed with the kiss and after it he rolled to her side so they both lay on their backs, looking up at the heavens.

"I miss our time alone," she said, referring to the nights he had spent in her chambers back in Urû'baen.

"I do too," he replied, drawing her into his embrace. "What will happen when you freed your dragon?"

"Well, I'll be a whole lot stronger than I am now. I won't be losing my power bit by bit anymore. My dragon and I will have much catching up to do and we must re-establish our mental connection, after that we'll all have to go after the Wraiths, destroy Galbatorix's Eldunarí and finally face him."

"Then what? If all this madness is over what will we do? Go back to Doru Araeba and recreate the order of the Riders?"

"I don't think Alagaësia will look upon it kindly if we restored the Dragon Riders, memories are too bitter. No, the Riders will never gain power again in this land, but Barwick's told me of Riders and wild dragons in other countries. I thought of leaving Alagaësia for good after all this is over. Travel around the world, see all these other lands, people and cultures and then find a nice place to settle down and start a family of my… our own." Murtagh liked her idea. He had always wondered what was beyond those horizons and he had made up the plan of having a family with Azaelyn a long time ago.

"I'd like that," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

The sun hadn't risen yet when they snuck through the rows of tents, though Orik had to stay behind with the horses. A dwarf was simply too obvious. Only a few sentries walked about and they were fairly easy to evade. When they reached one of the bigger, shabbier tents they quietly entered it. Ten foot soldiers slept on thin mats. Half of them had their throats slit before any of them woke up. The sleep-drunken soldiers could not react quick enough to fend off the invaders, couldn't even raise the alarm.

"I hate slaughter for no reason," Roran hissed.

"We need their uniforms. That's reason enough," Arya whispered back as she put on one of the red tunics with the flaming symbol of Galbatorix on it. "Besides, it was your idea!" she added, making him scowl. The other soldiers would wake soon and they had to stay hidden.

Once they were all dressed in the Empire's uniforms and cloaks they resumed their journey past the tents. Sometimes a watch guard would greet them, but no one stopped them. As the sun rose above the horizon life came into the campsite as soldiers went on busying themselves with daily chores.

It wasn't before noon that alarm rang through the camps as the dead bodies were discovered. "We should hurry," Eragon said, quickening his pace, the others matching his stride, pulling the hoods of their cloaks deeper into their faces so no one would recognize them.

Not a single soul camped within five leagues of Helgrind, which made it easier for them once they broke the last ranks of tents. "I'm glad that's over with," Murtagh said, pushing the hood of his cloak back once they were out of sight of the troops. It had been uncomfortable to walk amongst the enemy so unprotected. In front of them the black form of Helgrind rose high above them with its four tower-like rock formations, three of approximately equal height, the fourth shorter.

"You said the dungeon is beneath Helgrind. How will we get there? Last time I was here one could get inside only by air travel. Besides I inspected it thoroughly and found nothing that would lead into the deep," Eragon said, tilting his head back to look up at the steep, smooth sides.

"Then the entrance might be hidden here somewhere," Arya suggested.

"It won't be anything too obvious," Murtagh agreed with the elf.

"Then we should go and take a look around," Roran said and started walking along Helgrind's sides. The others split up too, Murtagh rounding Helgrind as well in the opposite direction as Roran, the others searching the close surroundings for clues.

It wasn't before evening that they met again. "Nothing," was the answer of most of them. "We'll have to wait for Roran. Where is he?" Eragon asked, looking around for his cousin.

"I only just saw him when we met on Helgrind's other side, we decided to go back the way we've come and look again," Murtagh said, starting to go in the direction Roran had left earlier, but their cousin just rounded the corner, waving them to come.

"Did he find something?" Azaelyn wondered, the hope in her voice obvious. They quickly joined Roran who led them along the sides of the black tower, then stopped all of a sudden.

"I think I found the entrance," he stated pointing at a little indentation in the otherwise smooth surface of the black mineral. It wasn't more than half an inch deep and hardly noticeable, particularly in the approaching darkness. What struck them all right away was the form; it had the shape of a gedwëy ignasia.

"I think you're right. But how do we open it?" Eragon asked.

"Maybe if someone touched the spot with his own gedwëy ignasia," Roran proposed. Eragon bent down to the indentation, taking off his right fingerless glove and placing the palm with the silvery shimmering dragon mark directly over it. When he pulled away again, the inside of the depression looked like it had filled with a silvery light that started to spread over the black rock in thin tendrils until the light formed the outlines of a gigantic archway.

"Speak your name and enter," Azaelyn read the silver inscription above the archway, translating it from the ancient language at the same time.

"They probably mean one's true name," Murtagh said.

"It probably only works for Riders or the Ra'zac, maybe even the Wraiths since they used to be Riders," Arya mussed. A sudden buzzing suddenly filled all their ears as Azaelyn stepped forward and spoke something none of them could understand over the buzzing. It vanished as quickly as it came.

"What was that?" Eragon asked bewildered.

"Forgive me, but my true name is for me and only me to know," Azaelyn told them. She must have used magic so they couldn't hear her true name. But the archway remained sealed.

"Now what?" Roran scratched his temple. They tried to open the door a few more times, Azaelyn making their ears buzz every time she said her true name. After a while Murtagh noticed that the buzzing remained in his ear even after the spell was lifted and told the others that they should take a break, collect some ideas and try again later.

They sat around a little fire. Here they were sheltered from the looks of enemy eyes. "What is known of Helgrind that could help us?" Eragon simply asked no one in particular.

"Its worshipped by a cult with… questionable practices. It used to be the lair of the Ra'zac. Apart from that nothing is really known about it," Murtagh said.

"Before it became a religious icon it wasn't known as Helgrind, but as the rock of Kuthian," Azaelyn added. Eragon's and Arya's heads snapped up simultaneously.

"The rock of Kuthian? Are you sure?" Eragon inquired.

"I've read about it in a book about Dras-Leona's history," she said. Eragon told them of what the werecat, Solembum, had told him_.__"When all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls."_

"Well, our situation couldn't be much more lost with the Wraiths out and about. I only killed one by sheer luck," Murtagh said.

"And your power is most definitely insufficient against them and Galbatorix," Roran contributed, getting a glare from his younger cousin.

"But why your name? Why not mine? It is my dragon locked away down there," Azaelyn remarked. They thought about it in silence.

"Because of the gedwëy ignasia," Murtagh suddenly realized. When the others looked at him quizzically, he continued, "One can only make the archway appear if they have a gedwëy ignasia, or if one were a Ra'zac, they'll have had their own methods of making it appear. But you don't even have a gedwëy ignasia anymore which means you could only have come so far in the presence of another Rider. I believe Galbatorix would have been with you if he had ever found your true name. If I'm right, only the name of the Rider who has touched the ignasia on the rock will open the archway."

"You mean Galbatorix would have said his own true name in front of me?" Azaelyn asked uncertain. It wasn't like the king to give away any weaknesses.

"He probably would have used a spell similar to yours," Murtagh shrugged.

"It makes sense though. That way he could make sure that you couldn't reach your dragon without his knowing of it," Arya agreed with Murtagh.

"Well, now she can't either. I don't know my true name," Eragon stated, looking guilty.

"I'm good at guessing names, at least one useful thing I inh… I learned in Urû'baen," Azaelyn said, almost saying _inherited from my father_, which would have been very obvious since Galbatorix was known for his ability to find true names. When no one seemed to have noticed her glitch, Murtagh exhaled the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. It was one thing being the son of a Forsworn, being the child of the king himself would cause distrust at the very least. "I've guessed Murtagh's a while ago," she continued.

"You did?" He looked up in surprise. Again she knew more about him than he about her. "What's yours?" he demanded.

"I'll tell you some other time," Azaelyn promised.

"I don't want anyone else knowing my name so I must ask you not to try and figure it out," Eragon said and she nodded in understanding. "I'll think about it myself." With that the Rider got up and walked towards the forest that bordered Helgrind in a considerable distance; nothing grew close to the tower-like rock. The others remained behind, unable to do anything else but wait while Eragon thought to himself, probably consulting with Saphira as well.

They all fell into little conversations of their own; Azaelyn and Arya discussing different political angles about the alliance between humans and elves, Murtagh and Roran about the finer details about swordplay, though they ended up entering the women's debate as well, when it broadened to the alliance with dwarves and- lately- Urgals as well.

The sun was already rising when Eragon returned with a smug smile on his lips. "Did you find your true name then?" Roran asked and Eragon nodded.

"Would you show me how that spell works you used last night? The one with the buzzing?" Eragon wanted to know from Azaelyn, ignoring Murtagh's groan. She agreed and taught him the incantation. He walked up to the archway whose light almost faded as the morning sun shone directly on it. Again the buzzing filled their ears for a moment and when it faded they heard a low rumble as stone seemed to shift and then the gates swung inwards revealing a dark staircase that led into the deep, into the Vault of Souls…


	18. The Vault of Souls

**Chapter 17: The Vault of Souls**

The winding staircase seemed never-ending. The deeper they went, the darker it became and all sense of time seemed lost. None of them could have said if they had been climbing down the stony steps for fifteen or thirty minutes, maybe even an hour and still there was no end in sight even though they could look down a deep, floorless shaft around which the staircase twisted and which ended only in darkness. The void was so broad they could hardly make out the other side. There was no balustrade so they walked down in single file, pressed against the rough, rocky wall so none would trip and fall into the dark abyss.

"This is ridiculous. We've been walking down these stairs for at least an hour and we seem to get no farther," Arya said frustrated. Like most elves, a confined space- particularly underground- made her tense and slightly uneasy.

"She's right this is just not right. Galbatorix must have built in another trap of some sort," Murtagh voiced. Azaelyn carefully walked up to the edge of the stairs and stared down into the black hole. There was still no floor visible. She looked up, but there was only darkness. The only sources of light were three crimson werelights Eragon had summoned that cast everything in an orange light.

"I agree with the both of you. I guess that this is all an illusion, we probably made little, possibly no progress what so ever in all the time we've been here, though it is probably the magic of this place itself, a defense mechanism of some sort. I doubt even Galbatorix would be able to cast such a perfect illusion." She drew her dagger from its thigh holster and dropped it into the maw of the abyss. A splat sounded only a split second later. So the ground actually was nearer than it seemed and filled with water. "Eragon, can you make one of your lights move down there?" she asked him and he complied, while they all moved closer to the edge to see. As the werelight moved down it illuminated the walls of the shaft. It continued and continued and continued until it glowed only dimly in the distance.

"I cannot move it any further or it will cost me too much energy," Eragon said and retrieved the light.

"I've seen enough, thank you. It's an illusion as I suspected. My dagger didn't drop so far. So magic is affected by the illusion, but material bodies are not. We won't get anywhere if we use the stairs. I think we have to jump." Azaelyn didn't look pleased. There was obviously water down there, but none could tell what else.

"Ladies first," Roran joked.

"You're a real jester, aren't you?" Arya hissed irritated.

"No reason to fluster," Roran said, walked to the edge and jumped. Eragon drew in a surprised gasp. But the splash sounded almost immediately. "The water is about hip deep and reeks of decaying flesh," he shouted up to them.

"Sounds safe enough," Murtagh commented and jumped after Roran. Another splash was heard. "Damn it, it smells like an entire army died down here!" They heard Murtagh curse on a little longer then the others jumped as well.

The spell that had caused the illusion had obviously kept the stench at bay as well for the odor was hardly bearable and made their stomachs turn. Under normal circumstances they would have smelled it the moment they opened the archway. "I don't think that I've ever wished to be rid of my heightened senses, but right now I curse my sense of smell," Eragon said, pressing the sleeve of his tunic to his nose. They were all standing hip deep in brown sludge.

"I guess I don't have to start looking for my dagger in here," Azaelyn noted shrugging. They walked on, wading through the stinking, filthy water.

A bank came in sight just when Arya said, "That was my leg, Eragon!"

"What are you talking about? I didn't come anywhere near you," he protested.

"Who else grabbed me then?" The question was justified as Eragon was the only one behind Arya, bringing up the rear of the group. It was answered when something erupted from the water with a loud slush: Skeletons with old-fashioned swords in their hands, moving towards them.

"Something tells me they're not here for a friendly catching up on how the surface world is doing," Roran mussed. They drew their own swords, backing each other for rear cover as the skeletons surrounded them.

"Try cutting a few of them down and make a run for the shore," Murtagh suggested and thrust Zar'roc at one of the attackers, cutting it in half. They fought their way to the shore and once they were on land the skeletons stopped pursuing them. They stood at the waters edge, panting and watching as the bones sank beneath the brown surface again, hidden from view. "Galbatorix has some pretty sick ideas," he said, shacking his head in disbelieve at the king's use of necromancy.

"Do you mean the walking skeletons or the fact that he forced us to wade through a soup of human remains?" Roran wanted to know. The others groaned and pulled grimaces of distaste.

"I tried to ignore the second!" With that Murtagh summoned two werelights of his own. Down here in the tunnel it was so dark he couldn't see his hand right before his eyes without them. The tunnel had been crudely chiselled out of the black rock, three houses could have easily fit next to each other and the ceiling was so high they couldn't distinguish it anymore.

"It's definitely not dwarf-made; their tunnels have smooth walls and they're not quite so big, not even the main tunnels," Eragon noticed looking around.

"According to legend this was the lair of Kuthian, the self-proclaimed 'King of Thieves'. They say he hoarded his marauded loot down here until he came across the Stone of Souls, which is probably what gave this place its name as the Vault of Souls. The stone supposedly made Kuthian capable of using magic, but it also made him insane until he became so paranoid that his own men would steal his treasures that he sealed off the entrance, condemning all within to starve and suffocate down here," Azaelyn told them. They walked along the dark tunnel, trying to avoid stepping onto the skeletons and bone piles that littered the ground.

"It probably drove some into cannibalism," Murtagh said, lifting a leg bone off the floor. It had human bite marks on it. He dropped it back onto a pile of more bones with disgust. He was feeling a little light headed and his breathing was labored. He knew it came from the thin air that had streamed in while the archway was open, which it was no longer. "We should hurry before we run out of air." They continued to walk down the tunnel, not noticing the shadows behind them.

"So… what is that Stone of Souls?" Eragon asked Azaelyn.

"No one knows. It was never found. Neither was Kuthian's treasure, by the way."

"No surprise if no one knew of this place," Roran mentioned.

"Galbatorix knew of it and I'm sure he looked for the treasure and of course for that stone," she argued then stopped all of a sudden. "Do you hear that?" They all halted and listened intensely. There was a scrapping noise like something hard dragging over the stone floor. They all turned to face an army of skeletons that had been following them at a safe distance. More scrapping announced skeletons arriving from the other side. They were surrounded, pressed against a wall. Every bony corpse was fitted with a weapon; sword, javelin, axe, hammer and everything else imaginable, even pitchforks.

"That's just great!" Roran hissed cynically. They pulled their blades in unison, standing in a half-circle with their backs against the wall.

_Give up mortals!_ The words seemed to come from everywhere, from the walls, ceiling and floor. No more than a whisper, eerie and sinister, the faint memory of a voice unheard for centuries. It crept under their skin, sending chills coursing through their bodies.

Murtagh closed his eyes for a second as a wave of exasperation and tiredness washed over him. He collected himself and mentally prepared for the power-straining fight. He felt an immense longing for a nice, soft bed, but the most he would find here was a stony tomb. When he reopened his eyes the skeletons were charging them. Roran was the first to break their circle, then Eragon.

The fight wore on for what seemed to be an eternity. The skeletons they managed to cut down simply set themselves back together and charged anew. Nor did their attackers seem to tire. They on the other hand quickly grew slower, their hits less precise. A dull ache began to throb behind Murtagh's temples, his arms felt leaden and his eyelids grew heavier. Not even the adrenaline of the fight could counteract the effect of the lack of air.

He felt Zar'roc fall from his grasp and his knees hit the ground. From the corner of his eye he could see Roran lying on the floor, passed out. The world had lost all sound, rotating around him. He felt strangely detached from his body as if he had been spinning in circles for hours. He could feel himself lean forward and falling towards the ground, his mind enveloped by darkness before he hit the black rock…


	19. A Battle of Wills

**Chapter 18: ****A Battle of Wills**

The first thing Murtagh became aware of was a head-splitting ache right behind his brow, stretching from one temple to the other. As he laid there, eyes closed, he wondered what had awoken him from the pleasant darkness. He felt a drop of liquid fall onto his cheek and knew it was this that had brought him back from his unconsciousness.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking to adjust his vision to the dim light. He turned his head to the left and saw Eragon lying next to him, obviously still blacked out. To his right he made out Arya and next to her Azaelyn and Roran. The women were already awake, though probably no longer than he was. Another cold drop hit his cheek and he looked up at the ceiling. There were stalactites hanging from the ceiling, but he could see no stalagmites. That was strange; they normally came in pairs, counterparts of each other.

As the last effects of his unconsciousness ceased he became aware of the cold in this cave. He could make out his breath in a misty cloud. There was a pulsating light source in the grotto and as it caught on the sharp formations that came down from the dome-shaped ceiling it was reflected like on… _Ice_, he realized. There were gigantic icicles hanging right above them, some were more than fifteen feet long and thick as tree trunks. Murtagh had the feeling that they were directly beneath Leona Lake now, which would explain the frozen water, but not the cold itself.

He raised his upper body carefully, his head spinning again. He closed his eyes and kept still until the spinning stopped. He slowly looked around. The room was perfectly round and with the dome-shaped ceiling it formed a half orb, the walls were black and rough, without a single doorway that would have enabled the skeletons to bring them here- or for them to escape for that matter.

There was a little frozen lake in the center of the grotto, also a perfect circle as if formed by artificial means. In the middle of the lake stood a kind of dais. His jaw dropped at the sight before him. Just above the black stone dais hovered- without anything holding it up- a stone. It was about the size of a human head and seemed to be filled with a milky, glittering, bluish-white substance that swirled inside of it, giving off the eerie glow that filled the cavern. The light came in waves, beating like a heart.

"What is that?" Eragon whispered next to him, finally having woken as well, staring transfixed at the radiant stone.

"The Stone of Souls, I imagine," he answered. Roran groaned as he woke up, rubbing the back of his head. All of a sudden the stone gave off a strong wave of light, turning bright white, the pulsating of the light quickening. Murtagh gasped as he felt the barrier in his mind break as if it were nothing. An icy presence wound itself around his mind, groping through his thoughts and memories, exploring every corner of his sanctuary until it reached the barrier to his magic source. The presence easily penetrated to his magic and he immediately found his power drained, slowly, deliberately. He heard the others heaving in an equal surprise as their minds were entered.

_Submit to me._ Murtagh wasn't sure whether someone actually spoke these words or whether they just resonated in his head. _Nobody wants you. You're the son of a traitor! You don't need them. Submit to me and I'll make you all powerful. _It took him a while before he realized that the voice spoke to him in the ancient language. One couldn't lie in the old tongue. Was the voice right? Nobody wanted him? They despised him for being the son of Morzan, hated him for being born. What had he ever done to them? Nothing! _They hate you none the less. Banish you for the deeds of someone else. Forget the others, submit to me!_ Painful memories flashed before his eyes; memories of being pushed away and spurned, of his mother leaving him, his father throwing Zar'roc at him, strangers telling him to get lost, they wouldn't want to have anything to do with the son of a traitor. He felt himself giving up resistance against the lure of the strange presence in his mind.

A scream echoed from what seemed to be far away. He recognized the scream, it was Azaelyn's. Azaelyn. _Submit to me mortal and I will grant you power beyond your wildest imagination._ The presence was trying to push the memory of Azaelyn out of his consciousness. No! He clung to her like to a lifeline. No, he couldn't let her go; she was his life, his present, his future. _Forget her. She cannot give you what I can._ "NO!" He had shouted his final answer. The tight grip around his mind loosened and he felt the presence leave his thoughts. He was standing, panting and sweating, despite the freezing cold. The others were standing next to him, all with an expression of shock on their faces that mimicked his own. Eragon actually had traces of tears running down his cheeks and he felt the wetness on his own face, wiping at it with his sleeve.

Again the stone flashed a particularly bright light, but this time it turned blood red. They backed up in surprise. Murtagh's hand automatically moved to Zar'roc's hilt and he was comforted slightly by the fact that it actually was by his side; he remembered dropping it earlier in the tunnel. One of the skeletons must have sheathed it.

_If you don't give me your souls freely, I'll take them by force!_ Though the voice seemed to come from everywhere, Murtagh knew it was the stone. It had a mind of its own. It hadn't been Galbatorix who revived the corpses. It was the stone with all those souls trapped within it, for he was sure that was what the white substance inside the stone was made of; the souls of those who had capitulated to it, probably also the souls of those who had died down here.

They backed further against the wall as the ice of the underground pool cracked and burst open as skeletons rose out of it, controlled like puppets by the now menacingly red shimmering stone. The cold around them seemed to become worse. It seeped into their bodies, chilling them to the very core, tightening around their windpipes like the icy fingers of death and every breath was burning in their throats as if they were trying to swallow glass shards. The cold came from the stone as it sucked all sort of energy from its surrounding.

This time the tendrils of the stone's own consciousness nestled directly in Murtagh's source of magic, draining him of his strength, quicker than the last time. He felt like something in his mind was detaching itself. Fear shot through him as the idea crossed his thoughts that it could be his soul that was loosening. He struggled against the icy grip of the stone, but it seemed futile.

Suddenly he felt another mind linked to his own, fuelling him with strength, fighting against the cold that held him captive. The new presence didn't feel so old as the stone, but just as complex and powerful. Warmth seeped through the mental link, eased his worries and fears with words in the ancient language. He didn't recognize the voice, but found it soothing none the less, felt a strange familiarity with the alien presence, there was a part of it that he knew very well. It was so close, not just with the mind, but physically as well. He felt his left hand tingle pleasantly where he was marked with the gedwëy ignasia.

As his mind was cleared of the stone's tendrils, he picked up a large rock that was lying to his feet and threw it with all his might. He instantly felt a connection established to Azaelyn as she transferred her power into him, making him gasp from the enormity of her strength. He knew what she wanted him to do. As the rock flew towards the Stone of Souls, he shouted; "_Jierda!_" Break! And that's what the stone did the moment it came in contact with the hurtled rock, splintering into thousands of shards. Hundreds of white lights flew up and through the thick, black walls. The charging skeletons crumbled to the floor lifelessly, some shattering into small fragments of bone.

He went down on his knees, bracing himself against the floor with his hands. Even with Azaelyn's enormous boost the magical strain on him had been enormous, leaving him too weak to stand. She knelt down by his side, brushing back a moist strand of his hair that had fallen in his face. He raised his upper body, looking into her eyes. By an unspoken consent he pulled her into his embrace, burying his face in the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. He remembered the moment where he had been ready to give in to the stone; it had been the memory of her that had kept him from surrendering.

"I felt her. I felt your dragon," he whispered and felt her nod. He had recognized the voice that had saved him to be female and though she hadn't said anything in the matter, he knew it had been Azaelyn's dragon.

"We all did," she replied quietly.

"Is the stone destroyed? For good?" Roran asked, looking at the place where it had been floating above the dais. She nodded again. Together they got up, Azaelyn supporting him, keeping him from falling. His knees still felt shaky. She only released him once she was sure he could stand on his own safely.

"There is another carving of a gedwëy ignasia here," Arya announced, pointing to the wall behind them. Eragon was already pulling off his glove, but Azaelyn stopped him, walking up to the wall herself. As her right hand touched the spot with the indention a bright light began to glow around her hand and the wall seemed to dissolve, the hole growing bigger. As she pulled back Murtagh could see something silvery shimmering on her palm, her gedwëy ignasia. It was back.

They walked into the new chamber through the magically created archway, the wall sealing itself behind them. It was entirely dark so Eragon summoned a few werelights. As the light filled the room all but Azaelyn gasped in astonishment. Before them lay a dragon of immense size. White from snout to tail the dragon was more than twice the size of Saphira and Thorn. The werelights cast a soft red light onto the white scales, giving the impression of the massive body being bathed in the light of sundown. It was a gorgeous creature, strongly built yet aerodynamic with gigantic wings that were spread out to either side, reaching the walls of the enormous cave. Spider webs had formed between the gracefully curved horns and dorsal spikes.

Azaelyn moved towards her dragon, reaching out to her with her right hand. As they touched the eyes of the dragon snapped open and a blinding light flashed through the cave. They could all feel shifts in magical power so strong it seemed to press down on them with such force it drove the air from their lungs and made it neigh impossible to breathe. As the light disappeared the dragon had sprung into a standing position, stretching her large wings and winding her neck, arching her back like a cat after a nap.

"I'm glad to see you again," Azaelyn said. The dragon stopped stretching and looked down at her Rider, lowering her huge head and rubbing her snout against Azaelyn's side until the woman hugged her muzzle. A low purring sound erupted from the dragon's throat as she closed her eyes in affection.

The reunion was cut short as a loud rumble echoed through the caves and tunnels. Their hearts seemed to stop beating for a second. "We have to get out of here," Roran cried as the first rocks loosened from the ceiling, tumbling to the ground as everything around them began to cave in.

"Then I suggest you get on and hold tight," Azaelyn said already rounding the side of the white dragon. They followed her. The dorsal spikes were set far enough apart for a human to sit between them and the dragon was strong enough to carry the four of them. Once they were all seated securely she began to flap her humongous wings, a puff of smoke coming from her nostrils. With a leap she took off from the ground, shooting up towards the distant ceiling of the cave. Murtagh instinctively shut his eyes and bowed his head as he became aware that the dragon wasn't intending to stop- or slow down for that matter- when the roof came into view, fast approaching. When he felt a surge of powerful magic course through the dragon he reopened his eyes and watched as the ceiling vanished, forming a round tunnel upwards, which they followed for almost two minutes at a break-neck speed that made his eyes water and pushed him flat against the spike against his back.

"We're about to hit water so better you hold your breaths," Azaelyn instructed. The moment he had inhaled and held it in, the tunnel above them broke open and water spilled into it from Leona Lake. The force of the water nearly pulled him off the dragon's back, but he held on firmly to the spike in front of him.

The water only hampered the dragon's speed slightly and they soon broke out of the tunnel and were now in open water. It was pitch black around them, but it quickly grew lighter as they moved towards the surface, the wings flapping like in air, propelling them ahead, pulling them away from the vortex that had built around the entry of the tunnel as water flooded the chamber below.

He was about to run out of air when he saw the surface. They broke out of the water no ten seconds later, all gasping for air. A loud rumble in the distance made them all look towards Helgrind, watching it collapse, sealing off the Vault of Souls once and for all…


	20. The Blacksmith's Apprentice

**Chapter 19: The Blacksmith's Apprentice**

The white dragon flew in a wide arc around the campsite of the soldiers who had their attention on the crumbled heap of black stone that once was Helgrind. They could see Orik standing a few feet away from the birch grove where they had left him.

The dwarf looked positively dumbstruck at the sight of the unknown dragon as it landed before him. They all slid off the dragon's back. It was quite dark and only the stars bestowed light upon the land in the new moon night. They must have been gone about two days.

"I couldn't really believe it until I saw it with mine own eyes," Orik muttered, staring transfixed at the dragon. Its scales shone silvery in the dim starlight.

"What's your name, dragon?" Arya asked. Long time spent with Saphira and Thorn had taught her that dragon's preferred being addressed directly.

"Her name is Evarín," Azaelyn answered. She stood next to the dragon, her hand resting on its flank.

"I thought Saphira was the only female dragon left in Alagaësia." Eragon said. As if on cue the blue dragon landed not far away. With the soldiers' attention on Helgrind they didn't have to worry being noticed. Slowly and apprehensively Saphira approached the older dragoness, her head lowered, showing respect and a will for subordination. Dragons had ranks in their orders, she had learned that from Glaedr and she wasn't about to challenge this obviously more powerful female for her dominant position. Evarín bowed her head to Saphira in recognition of her peaceful establishment in ranking.

The others had watched this spectacle silently, a bit worried the females wouldn't get along, but neither showed aggression so the situation lost its tension. In unsounded consent both dragons lifted off and disappeared into the dark sky.

"They seem to get along just fine," Eragon noticed, smiling slightly. So far Saphira had only had contact to male dragons and he was kind of glad that she could now also learn from another female.

It was still dark when the horses began to neigh in panic. Alarmed they all came to their feet within seconds, drawing weapons, sleep forgotten. There was no use to try and outrun the Black Riders. No five minutes later the black figures emerged from the darkness around them, swords already drawn. There were nine of them on horse and three came from above on the Sundablaka. It was the first time that all of them had come and it wasn't a very promising thought.

They stood in a circle, covering each others backs as they were surrounded by the Wraiths, trying to fight the daunting effects of the heart-piercing cries that emanated from their attackers.

One of the Sundablaka was about to swoop down on them, its maw wide open, and ready to swallow at least one of them whole, when its neck was caught in the jaws of Evarín. It roared in anguish as the bigger white dragon bit down viciously. The other two Nameless were about to come to their comrade's aid when Saphira blocked them, fighting them back as Evarín snapped her muzzle shut one last time, severing the beast's head. It dropped out of the sky, writhing like a beheaded chicken and almost landed on two of the Wraiths on the ground. Murtagh and Eragon took the distraction and charged the Forsworn. One was stabbed in the side by Murtagh, another through the head by Eragon. The wraiths started screeching in agony as their two companions and their mounts dissolved into black vapor. They backed away again, disappeared into the blackness from which they had come.

They watched as the Sundablaka's severed head turned into mist and reformed at the end of the wounded neck, before it flew off with the other two. So they really couldn't be killed unless their Riders died.

"That went well for a change," Roran commented, looking at the two piles of black cloth that were all that remained from the Wraiths. "Three down, ten to go."

"We were lucky this time," Murtagh just replied. He had seen his father riding one of the Sundablaka.

"Why don't they use magic? They did it when they crossed the Jiet," Eragon noticed. It was a good question. One of the Wraiths had frozen the river like Azaelyn had done, but since then they hadn't seen them use magic again.

"Maybe their magic is like a dragon's and cannot be used consciously," Arya suggested. It was the best explanation so they chose to go with that.

"What I find more interesting is how they always find us. We haven't taken a route that would suggest Helgrind to be our target," Azaelyn said and sat on a tree stump. It was at least the third time that question had come up. Yet there seemed to be no answer to it. They all sat down and pondered over it.

Murtagh tried to think of things that had happened right before every attack. They had been asleep, only one of them awake on watch. The horses panicked. No, he had to go back a little more. They sat around camp fires twice, but the last time they were in the caves beneath Helgrind. What did all three situations have in common? His gaze fell onto Zar'roc that hung from his belt. The red sword and Eragon's blue Brisingr were the only weapons that could kill the Wraiths.

His eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Damn it!" he yelled, making the others flinch as he jumped to his feet.

"What is it?" Roran asked.

"It's the swords! The Riders' swords! They don't just kill the Wraiths, they attract them as well," he told them of his hunch. "Before every attack the blades were unsheathed. It's the only thing that happened all three times," he continued, explaining his idea. He had drawn Zar'roc at the shore of the Jiet River, Eragon had polished Brisingr when they rested near Tüdosten Lake and they had both used their swords below Helgrind.

"We also had our swords drawn the day of the battle," Eragon reminded him. It made perfect sense. It seemed to suit those evil creatures that one's only advantage against them was one's biggest detriment at the same time.

A mood of defeat settled over their camp. "Then we have to get new swords," Murtagh said, rubbing over his brow. They couldn't use Zar'roc or Brisingr again unless the Wraiths were already there or they wanted to purposefully lure them.

"If we ride from here directly to the Varden, we'll surely come across a village or town with a blacksmith," Azaelyn said.

When the sun rose for another day, they had already packed up and were about to leave. Evarín suddenly lifted off and disappeared into the distance. She was incredibly quick, like an arrow.

"Where is she off to?" Murtagh asked Azaelyn who didn't seem too worried about her.

"She's been locked up for thirty years. She said she just wants to spread her wings a bit. She'll probably fly to the Hadarac, dragons feel very comfortable there. She'll meet us at the Varden's campground." With that Azaelyn swung into Artax's saddle and waited until all the others were mounted as well. She stayed calm on the outside, but the truth was that she was a bit disappointed that Evarín chose to leave rather than staying by her side. She did understand of course. She had noticed that their bond wasn't very strong anymore. Though there was still affection for one another, the past thirty years had torn them apart and it would take time before they could re-establish all they had lost, if ever.

_Don't worry. The both of you will be close again soon, I'm sure of it_, Saphira soothed her, speaking only to her.

_I hope you're right_, Azaelyn sighed, signalling for Artax to pick up a canter. She was glad Evarín was free again, not just for the dragon's sake, but for hers as well. Azaelyn was now free of the curse Galbatorix had set on her, his brilliant idea to try and force her to reveal her true name to him unless she was willing to die as his curse fed on her power while she fuelled her dragon's survival. And a few months ago the necessary energy to preserve Evarín's life had grown tenfold. She wouldn't have survived the strain much longer.

After leaving behind the Empire's army they followed the shoreline of Leona Lake which would bring them to the mouth of the Jiet River, which they would have to cross. The Varden were probably already moving towards Belatona, but their progress would be slow. Saphira flew overhead, occasionally taking a dip in the lake.

They spotted a town on their third day. Saphira stayed behind as they rode towards it, pulling on cloaks to cover their faces. Most of the townsmen simply ignored them, the others eyed them suspiciously, but did nothing to stop them advancing towards the town center. They asked directions to the blacksmith. It wasn't hard to find, though not really promising either. The forge was no more than an old broken-down barrack. The blacksmith turned out to be an old drunk sleeping on a chair, his head lolling to the left side, a bottle of mead hanging from his hand.

"Another example for the Empire's outstanding citizens," Murtagh said sarcastically and Eragon snickered. The others had stayed outside. The older one walked up to the drunken smith and shook his shoulder. With a snort the man awoke and looked around as if he wasn't certain where he was. He looked up at them.

"Cushtomurs," he babbled inebriated. He stood up and tried to bow, nearly toppling over. "What ca-h-n I dsho for you, go-h-od shirs?" he asked, swaying dangerously and hiccupping.

"Would you have a few swords by any chance?" Eragon asked, trying to fight back the amused smirk. Murtagh didn't even try.

"You co-h-min' from the Empire?"

"Yes," Murtagh lied. The blacksmith walked unsteadily towards a huge chest and opened the lid with difficulty though probably not from the weight.

"Shust sho-h-ose one you li-h-ke," the man said and stumbled into a corner in the back of the shop, grabbing another bottle of mead. The two half-brothers shot each other meaningful looks, Murtagh rolling his eyes.

They looked at the content of the chest. It was stacked with all sorts of blades and their sheaths; straight, curved, one- or two-handed hilts, broad or slim blades. From all Murtagh knew about swords the craftsmanship wasn't even half bad, on the contrary, the swords were crafted expertly. He pulled out a hand-and-a-half sword. Its blade was perfectly straight and lightweight, the heft of blade and hilt perfectly balanced. He let his wrist rotate, making the blade twirl in the air a few times then swept it smoothly in front of him twice. Eragon had chosen a falchion of the type he had used after loosing Zar'roc, before obtaining Brisingr.

They turned towards the blacksmith to pay, but the man had passed out, the mead of the half-drunken bottle seeping onto the filthy floor.

"Guess we'll just leave some money on the table," Eragon said and put a small bundle of coins onto the wooden surface, before turning to leave. He stopped when a young man, around their own age, stood in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, studying them closely from deep blue eyes.

"Who are you?" Murtagh asked, his hand on the hilt of his new sword, which he had already strapped to his belt next to Zar'roc.

"My name's Lothar, Thormond's apprentice," said and nodded his head in the direction of the unconscious blacksmith.

"We didn't knock him out, if you're thinking that," Murtagh said defensively.

"I didn't think you did. No use knocking someone out and still paying, is there?" So Lothar had some brains. "Besides, I know his drinking habits," he added.

"Are you the one who made these swords?" Eragon asked, pointing to the chest. Lothar nodded.

"Some skilled handiwork for an apprentice," Murtagh noticed.

"Hardly as good as the elves', I imagine." Lothar's eyes hung on Zar'roc and Brisingr. "I didn't think that Dragon Riders would ever stumble into this run-down hovel." Murtagh and Eragon tensed as their secret was so easily lifted. "Don't worry, if I wanted to cause you trouble, I'd already have called for aid when I saw the dwarf and the elf down the street." He chuckled. They eased slightly, though their hands remained on their swords.

"You are not on the side of the Empire then?" Eragon asked, watching Lothar suspiciously as the man walked into the forge and started cleaning up the empty bottles his mentor had left lying around.

"My parents were killed by the soldiers of the Empire when I was little. Thormond raised me," Lothar explained, shoving a dark blond strand of hair out of his face.

"Sorry to hear that," Eragon said and he meant it.

"You are going to the Varden, are you not?"

"We are. Why do you ask?" Murtagh asked suspiciously. He did not trust Lothar. The young man looked strangely familiar though he couldn't think of where he might have seen him.

"Can I join you?" Eragon had already answered with _yes_ before Murtagh could get his tongue around his _no_…


	21. Intuition

**Chapter 20: ****Intuition**

Once Lothar had written a note for Thormond, explaining where he was off to, he followed Eragon and a fuming Murtagh out of the forge. He ran around the old building and returned ten minutes later with a brown mare; Kelby, as he introduced her. Murtagh just gave a snort, pressed his heels into Tornac's flanks and trotted down the street to where the others waited. He could feel Eragon's questioning gaze on his back, but ignored it.

They were surprised at their new member, but didn't seem to mind. They'd only be travelling another four days at the most anyway. Together they rode out of the little town, Saphira meeting them after they were out of sight of any of the inhabitants.

"I've always wanted to see dragons," Lothar said, looking at Saphira admiringly as she flew overhead.

"Then why not join the Varden sooner? Saphira's been with them for quite a while now," Murtagh commented with a sour note in his voice. Azaelyn glanced at him surprised. She didn't know him to be so hostile.

"Well, I wanted to, but the Varden have been travelling so much lately I didn't know where to go," Lothar answered, seemingly oblivious to the venom in Murtagh's voice.

The Red Rider's mood stayed dark for the rest of the day and did not brighten when they made camp at sunset. He did not join their conversations and only snapped at them when a question was directed at him.

"He doesn't like me," Lothar noticed quietly to Azaelyn who was sitting beside him.

"He needs time. Eventually he'll get over himself," she replied, looking at Murtagh who was sitting beyond the ring of light the campfire cast.

"Is he your husband?" She was surprised at the question, but took it for friendly interest.

"No. I'm not married," she answered, noticing him moving closer.

"Engaged?"

"She is not engaged either!" The blacksmith in training flinched as Murtagh stood directly behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest, his gray eyes fixed coldly on the slightly younger man. Azaelyn had to grin, but made sure neither man could see, lowering her head. The Rider stepped between them and sat down, so Lothar couldn't move closer to Azaelyn. She felt him wrap a protective arm around her waist. With a smirk she leaned back against his shoulder, looking up at him. His gaze was locked on the fire, his jaw set firmly, his lips becoming a thin white line as he pressed them together. She placed a hand on his cheek, making him look down at her.

"Calm yourself, my love," she said in the ancient language, her fingers tracing his jaw line, which slackened considerably under her touch. She could feel little stubbles of hair along his chin that tickled the tips of her fingers. The memory of their one night together suddenly flashed red hot in her mind. She wished they'd already be back with the Varden, alone in his tent. As they were not she regretfully shoved the pleasant memory from her thoughts and just enjoyed the warmth of his body by her side.

On the next day Murtagh constantly rode between Azaelyn and Lothar, not letting the other man out of his sight. They decided to ride through the night, since Roran started to become lovesick for Katrina and Murtagh wanted to see Thorn again after being separated for more than a week.

"Is it true that Galbatorix still has one egg left?" Lothar asked after a long silence.

"A green one, yes," Azaelyn answered.

"Why doesn't he make it hatch?"

"A dragon only hatches when it feels the presence of its Rider," Arya instructed.

"So he hasn't found the Rider yet," he concluded.

"Obviously," Murtagh said disparagingly. Azaelyn, who was riding right next to him, took her foot out of the stirrup and kicked him lightly in the leg as a warning. _Be nice_, she mouthed, though not entirely capable of concealing the grin on her lips.

"And we can only hope he never does. We might have three Riders on our side now, but Shruikan alone is a very powerful dragon. It wouldn't be good for us if he got aid," Orik stated.

The day wore on, growing considerably warm in the afternoon. Spring was finally breaking through the last remnants of winter, bringing warmth and life back to the dreary land of Alagaësia.

They made camp in the evening, just before sundown. While the others sat around the fire Eragon and Murtagh were sparring, testing their new weapons, getting used to the feeling of using the swords. Though they were well crafted they could not be compared to the mastery of their elven blades and after using Zar'roc and Brisingr for so long, the feel of a common sword came as somewhat of a letdown.

"Why do you have such a problem with Lothar?" Eragon asked his half-brother during a short break. Murtagh looked over to the others who sat just beyond hearing range. Despite the distance he could see the way the young blacksmith's eyes lingered on Azaelyn who was talking with Arya animatedly. It was something in Lothar's gaze- a longing and desire- that made Murtagh's skin crawl. Then there was this feeling of familiarity. Neither could he get rid of it, nor could he place it.

"I don't know. There's just something about him I don't like. My intuition tells me to keep an eye on him." And his intuition had never deceived him so far.

"Come off it! He's not so bad. Just get to know him a little. I think the two of you might get along quite well." Eragon was obviously blind to what Murtagh could see, but then again it wasn't like Lothar was eyeing Arya. If it were so Eragon would be the first to feed that scum to a pack of starving shrrg.

"Maybe," he just replied not wanting to continue this discussion. He threw another glance at Azaelyn, making sure Lothar was keeping his distance. She had made it clear to whom she belonged the night before when she had cuddled into his arms. "Let's continue," he suggested and twirled his new blade in his right hand.

They continued to spar late into the night. The others had already gone to sleep when they returned to the camp. All but one. Murtagh noticed right away that Lothar wasn't there anymore. When he pointed it out to Eragon the younger one just rolled his eyes. "I don't think he's up to anything bad, but if it makes you feel better you can go look for him." With that he laid down on his bedroll, Saphira coiled around him.

Murtagh chose to go and look for the smith and walked towards a small forest at the border of which they rested. It didn't take him all too long to find the other man; tracking was something he had always been good at though now he could also trace people by their energy and life force.

Lothar was standing by the edge of a pond. His own sword was drawn, sticking in the ground as he leaned on it, while surveying the water's surface. His mind was protected as fiercely as Murtagh's so the Rider didn't even try to break through. "You could have practiced with us," Murtagh said, announcing his presence. The smith spun around in shock. After a moment he regained his composure and sheathed his sword.

"I didn't have the feeling that I would be invited. Or tolerated as for that matter. Besides, I would look foolish compared to you Riders."

"Eragon trusts you," Murtagh just said, referring to Lothar's first assertion, completely agreeing with the rest.

"But you don't." It was a statement not a question so Murtagh remained silent. "Though I don't understand why you mistrust me so."

"Gut feeling," Murtagh simply replied as an answer. He turned to leave, but stopped to say, "We'll arrive at the Varden in two days. I won't have to see you anymore and you will do what you can to assist the rebels in their quest to overthrow Galbatorix and while you're at it you'll stay away from Azaelyn. Am I understood?" His hand closed around Zar'roc's hilt as to underline the meaning of his unspoken threat. He saw the other man gulp, his eyes fixed on the red sheath of Zar'roc. He clearly understood. Pleased, Murtagh spun around and left the smith standing by the lake.

When he returned to the camp he sat down cross-legged on a large boulder. His senses were tense and alert which caused him to jump a little, when Saphira stirred, lifting her head to look at him with her deep blue eyes.

_Do you really feel the need for jealousy?_ She asked him. He sighed and began fumbling with a corner of his tunic, not looking at the dragon.

_I'm not jealous Saphira. There's just something about him that tells me to be on my guard_, he replied. And it was true. He wasn't jealous. There was nothing to be jealous about.

_He might turn out to be alright, if you gave him a chance_, she tried. Again he sighed.

_Eragon's already said the same thing. But how can I ignore what my intuition tells me?_ Saphira gave a snort, a plume of smoke rising from her nostrils.

_One should always listen to intuition, I guess_, she said, then added, _Even if some of us are gifted with an occasionally bad one_, while looking at Eragon. Murtagh chuckled and heard a laugh-like rumble come from Saphira. _But you should be a little nicer to him none the less_, she continued.

_I'll think about it_…


	22. First Night Back

**Chapter 21: ****First Night Back**

Murtagh's idea of nicer was simply to ignore Lothar for the next two days. There spirits were elevated when the mass of gray tents stretched out before them. A loud roar was heard from a far and Murtagh recognized Thorn. The moment he got close enough his dragon's mind embraced his own, overwhelming him with mirth at his return. He could only reciprocate such feelings as he spurred Tornac to ride faster.

Just as they were about to reach the Varden Evarín swooped out of a cloud that had been hiding her white form. It was an amazing sight to watch the light break on her scales like on diamond, throwing multicolored specks onto the now hardened earth as she landed before them. In plain light Murtagh was finally able to see that she wasn't entirely pure white, but rather had the slightest bluish-silvery hue in her scales. Her eyes were the color of pale moonstone, again with the slightest silvery touch. Talons and spikes were of a pearly white.

"You've been gone long," Azaelyn said monotonous, though Murtagh thought he might have heard a hint of accusation, but he wasn't certain.

_I said I'd meet up with you when you reach the Varden_, the dragon reminded her, though speaking to them all. He recognized her voice from the cave in the Vault of Souls when she had saved him from the Stone's influence. A calming, gentle voice that could make one forget how dangerous dragons could be if it weren't for her powerful and awe-inspiring presence in their heads.

Saphira landed by the older dragon's side, greeting her with a nudge in the side. Evarín snorted appreciatively. Loud thuds announced Thorn's arrival shortly before he landed softly before them.

_You can fly again! And only after a bit more than two weeks!_ Murtagh was thrilled at seeing his companion well again.

_You must thank the elves for that. They spent much time and energy on mending the bone_, he answered, nuzzling his Rider who had gotten off Tornac. After that Thorn turned towards the white dragon and sniffed the air.

As the dragons got acquainted they noticed Nasuada and King Orrin coming towards them; Nasuada with her Nighthawks all around her, accompanied by the witch, Angela, Solembum and Elva; Orrin surrounded by his entourage. The elves also approached. Most of the new arrivals stared open-mouthed at the huge white dragon. Few of them had ever met Shruikan or Glaedr so this was the biggest dragon they've ever seen, though Evarín didn't lack much size in comparison to Shruikan. He was far more than twice her age, but no longer grew as quickly as a younger dragon did and Galbatorix wouldn't dare to manipulate his own dragon's growth, since side effects were impossible to predetermine- a fact that had left him cold when fiddling with Thorn's.

"I don't believe this! Three dragons!" Nasuada had tears in her eyes as she looked up at the trio. All three dragons stood beside each other, building an inexpugnable wall. Solembum was the only one who seemed unmoved. He had probably known about it or at least had guessed that there was something like this in the Vault of Souls, it had been him who told Eragon to go there after all.

They managed to get to their tents a few hours later when it began to grow dark. Katrina had been waiting for Roran before Eragon's tent. Her belly was huge by now and it was probably only a matter of days- weeks at most- before she was due.

Alone in his tent Murtagh ridded himself of his dirty and torn clothes and walked over to the wash basin. After he had cleaned himself and put on a fresh pair of pants he stood before the mirror, eyeing his reflection. His features were sharper than they used to be as his connection to Thorn altered his appearance to resemble that of the elves. Even his ears had become pointier. He wasn't sure whether he wanted this change, he had always liked the way he looked as a normal human and he still preferred the memory in comparison to what he saw now. He would ask Azaelyn if the transformation could be halted, after all, she didn't have the elvish features and she'd been a Rider for the past three decades and had elven blood.

He ran a hand over his chin feeling the stubbles that gave his face a slight shadow. He was about to grab the razor from the edge of the basin when Azaelyn's hand stopped him. "Leave the shaving for later, I like the stubbles." He had hardly turned around before their lips were locked in a fierce kiss. Over four months had left the both of them craving for the intimacy they had shared only once so far. She had changed into a provocatively short nightgown. A crumbled cloak by the entrance told him how she had managed to get from her tent to his without stirring too much attention. She had also thought of bringing some spare clothing for herself for the next morning, all of which she had discarded along with the cloak.

He pulled her against him and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he pushed her back against his closet. His hand travelled up her thighs and under her gown until he reached her bare bottom. "You're not wearing any drawers," he noticed surprised and she pulled away from the kiss with a mischievous grin on her lips.

"I thought they might get in the way," she replied, her lips tracing the line of his jaw until she reached his ear and began to nibble on it, her hands tracing the muscles of his chest and stomach all the while. Murtagh moaned in appreciation of her touch.

While his one hand rested on her bottom for extra support his other moved between her legs, pushing the nightgown out of the way. She threw her head back against the closet when his fingers touched her where her legs joined and she muffled her own cry by pressing a hand over her mouth. He kissed the side of her exposed throat, sucking at it with intensifying vigor as his hand continued to massage her. He was extremely satisfied to find her hot and moist as she began to pant and rack her nails over his shoulder, leaving red streams.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, stop teasing me!" she cried out, pulling down his pants and her hand wrapping around his hardened shaft, reversing the teasing, making his breath hitch. He had to hold on to the top of the closet for stability, as his knees came close to buckling. He groaned and shoved her harder against the closet. "Terrible isn't it?" she whispered seductively in his ear, her fingers rubbing agonizingly slowly over his length.

He looked up into her eyes of molten gold, claiming her lips for a passionate kiss. She released her grip on him and he entered her, filling her up entirely. She moaned against his mouth. He began to move inside of her in a slow, steady rhythm. They both moaned as she tightened around his shaft, increasing the rupture.

He picked up speed and thrust into her harder and deeper. She unclenched around him, delaying their climax, but it wouldn't take much longer anyhow. When she came he could feel her convulse and it was all he needed to reach his own orgasm.

He leaned his forehead against hers, both had their eyes closed, panting and quivering in the aftershock. A film of sweat covered their bodies and made their skin gleam in the twilight that came from the fires outside of his tent.

"I love you," she whispered and he smiled, opening his eyes to look into hers. He let her slide down to stand on her own two feet, but kept her in his embrace.

"I love you too," he replied just as quietly. He lifted his left hand showing her his gedwëy ignasia and she pressed her right hand, the marked hand, against his, so the ignasias touched. A faint silver light emanated from the place their hands touched and a comfortable tingle ran up their arms.

Azaelyn smiled up at him, "Maybe that means we're truly meant for each other." He smiled back, grabbing the hem of her nightgown and pulling it over her head before he leaned in for a deep kiss that reflected not lust or desire, but love and devotion. He carried her over to his cot and lay down with her in his arms.

"I don't need the gedwëy ignasia to tell me that."

The sun's rays came through the thin flaps of his tent when Murtagh woke up. He was still tired and his body felt sore and drained. He looked to Azaelyn who was still asleep. Her hair was dishevelled and the sheets had slipped to her waist, exposing her otherwise nude body. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and laid down again, wrapping his arms around her. Instinctively she cuddled closer to him, but continued to sleep. They had made love all night through, finding sleep only sometime in the early morning hours. Who could have thought it was possible to make up for four months in just one night?

"Good morning," Azaelyn mumbled as she woke up. She stretched and yawned contentedly.

"Good morning," he replied. She groaned and closed her eyes again, hugging him tightly.

"I wish we could just stay in bed all day," she murmured drowsily.

"I'm afraid they'd come looking for us at one point or another," he chortled, which made her giggle.

"I guess it would be odd if anyone caught us like this." With that she pulled out of his embrace and sat up, pressing the blanket to her chest, looking around the tent. "We should have gotten more sleep last night," she commented, yawning again. He sat up right behind her and kissed her shoulder.

"Last night was incredible and I wouldn't want to have missed a second of it." She grinned and kissed him on the lips.

"Neither would I, but I'm just feeling so tired now and I'm all sore," she said rubbing the insides of her thighs through the blanket. "Riding Evarín today won't be comfortable." He noticed that she was in an unusually good mood today.

"Do you even have a saddle?" He asked.

"No, I was going to make one. I've done it before, it's not so difficult, but it takes time," she answered.

"Take mine then. I don't have to fly with Thorn now, I'll go once you come back," he offered and she kissed him stormily for it.

"Thank you! I promise not to take too long." With that she jumped up and got cleaned up and dressed. He watched her until she had left the tent. After she was gone he let himself fall back into the cushions with a sigh. He really didn't want to get up.

_Well, now that you promised Azaelyn my saddle, you don't really have to get up just yet, do you?_ Thorn said indicting. Murtagh had to grin as he found himself caught.

_Oops. _


	23. The Miracle of Life

**Chapter 22: The Miracle of Life**

"Er… Argetlam?" Murtagh woke up from his doze when a timid voice broke through his daydream. He looked up to find a young boy staring at him almost frightened as if he was about to receive punishment for waking the Rider. Jarsha was his name, if Murtagh remembered correctly.

"What is it?" He sat up stretching. The boy seemed to relax now that there no longer seemed to be any consequences to be expected.

"Miss Katrina sent me. She wanted one of the Riders to come. The other two aren't here," he said.

"Why does Katrina want one of us to come?"

"She's in labor." On hearing this, Murtagh was out of bed and dressed in a speed far beyond anything a human could muster. Without sparing Jarsha another glance he stormed out of the tent and ran through the camp to the tent Roran and Katrina occupied.

An elderly woman was waiting in front of the tent and he stopped before her. She looked him up and down. "I expected Eragon to show up, considering it's his cousin's child being born," she said.

"Roran is my cousin as well and Eragon isn't here." She nodded and led him inside. He felt his heart hammering hard against his ribcage. He had never partaken in a delivery before. What if he was supposed to do something and didn't know how? Or worse, messed it up? Roran and Katrina would never forgive him if something happened to the child, nor would Eragon. He wouldn't forgive himself for that matter.

Katrina was lying on the bed, her face covered in sweat, panting hard. She looked up at him as he stood beside her. "I thought Eragon would come."

"He's not here." She howled in exasperation.

"Neither is Roran. Nasuada sent him on a mission this morning." Obviously she wasn't so pleased that he was the only one here. It was understandable since she didn't know him all too well. Azaelyn was a woman, she would be more comfortable with her, but she wasn't here either.

"I can leave again, if you want," he offered and turned to leave. But she grabbed his wrist as another wave of pain came over her. She had more strength than he expected and he wouldn't be surprised if his wrist would bruise.

"No… please… please stay," she said when the pain had resided, her breathing hard. He nodded and sat on the middle of the bed, the way the old woman, Gertrude, told him to, Katrina between his legs, her head on his chest. His role was to support her and to give her the strength she needed to get through this. She held both his hands tightly, pressing hard every time a contraction tore through her body. Gertrude had settled at the end of the bed, between Katrina's bent and spread legs, monitoring the birthing, telling the young woman how to breathe and when to press.

Never in his life had Murtagh felt such a respect for women. What they had to endure shadowed anything even battle could bring over men. He found himself occasionally following Gertrude's breathing example to calm himself and it actually did help. All the while he spoke with Katrina, reassuring her that all would go well or he would just tell her of things that were entirely off topic. Gertrude had suggested it to him quietly. It was supposed to remind Katrina that she didn't have to go through this alone, if she just heard his voice.

He no longer felt the pain in his hands when Katrina nearly broke his fingers. He could see the side of her face, pale white and shiny with sweat. He wasn't sure how long they were already sitting here, but by the light outside it must have been at least five hours.

Another contraction had just subsided and Katrina fell back against his chest, hanging limply in his arms, her head slightly to the side, her eyes closed and her breathing irregular. Her hair was sticking to her face and neck in moist strands and her nightgown was soaked. At least another four hours had passed and there still didn't seem to be any sign of progress. He was no professional, but he definitely didn't have to see Gertrude's worried frown to know things weren't going as planned. His heart started to pound again, not from nervousness this time, but from alarm and worry. Katrina was weakening and she had started to bleed profusely a while ago, which was all the more enfeebling.

He looked up to Gertrude, who was nibbling on her lower lip in thought. "I'm afraid the baby is sitting askew," she said to Murtagh, knowing that Katrina wouldn't be able to hear her at the moment anyway. "I don't know how much you Dragon Riders can do, but I'm going to need your help." She explained the further procedures to him telling him what to do.

Murtagh freed his hands from Katrina's grasp and placed them on her belly, closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew Azaelyn was very good at using magic to detect problems inside a human body. He'd never done it before himself though. After a while he became aware of Katrina's body in a way he had never of any body before, not even his own. He could feel everything that went on inside her so vividly as if he were an innermost part of her body; her heart beating, her lungs filling with air and emptying again, her blood rushing through her veins. He concentrated harder on her maladies and soon found her womb. He could sense the baby lying awry, noticed the burst blood vessel that caused the bad bleeding. He let his magic flow there and sensed it being repaired, which stopped the blood flow. He couldn't turn the infant, Gertrude said she'd do it, but he'd have to make sure no damage would come to Katrina. He felt the little body being turned, sealed all wounds that were caused by this.

After the baby was in the right position he returned to the outside world momentarily having the impression of being strangely out of place. He went to hold Katrina's hands again. Her grip was weak, too weak. So he used more of his own energy to fuel hers. She cried out in pain as her body contracted again and Gertrude told her to push.

"I can see the head, dear, just a bit more," Gertrude encouraged her and Katrina did as she was told, breathing hard when the contraction ceased. "Just a few more times," Gertrude said, but Katrina shook her head.

"I can't…" Her thin voice broke from debilitation, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was heart-wrenching to see the usually strong Katrina like this. Murtagh placed his arms around her and lowered his head so it rested beside hers.

"Katrina, you can do this! You are such a strong woman, if you can't do this, no one can," he whispered to her, "Roran needs you and the child healthy and they will need your strength in many years to come. You can do this, Katrina, I know you can. Don't give up now." She nodded slowly, her hand squeezing his. Not a second later the next contraction came and she pushed on Gertrude's orders. And again. And again. After a forth she sagged into Murtagh's embrace, a tired, but content smile on her face as Gertrude took care of the newborn.

"Thank you," she whispered looking up at him and he kissed her on the forehead. He felt tired from using so much energy, but he was certain that his fatigue could only pale in comparison to Katrina's.

The baby's cry resounded through the tent not a moment later and Gertrude walked up to the two of them and placed the child, wrapped in white linen, into its mother's arms.

"Congratulations! It's a healthy baby boy!" Gertrude said smiling broadly. They looked down at the baby's face, bright pink, slightly wrinkled with its eyes still shut. Everything was so incredibly small, the nose, the mouth, the fingers. Murtagh felt completely overwhelmed and awed. This truly was a miracle of life. Katrina stroked over the few strands of dark hair that were already visible, all memory of the strains forgotten.

"What will you name him?" Murtagh asked.

"We wanted to name him after Roran's father, Garrow," she answered.

"A good, strong name," he replied nodding. He placed a hand on the top of the baby's head and spoke in the ancient language, "_Sé mor'ranr un ilian ono finna unin onr líf un atra ono waíse siher fra haina un rauthr._" May you find peace and happiness in your life and may you be safe from harm and misfortune. He had never blessed anyone so far and was somewhat surprised as he felt an exertion on his energy as if the words had been filled with magic.

After a while he left mother and child, leaving them to recuperate from the hardships of the past ten hours. He halted outside the tent when Gertrude approached him with a bottle of whisky. She pushed the spirit into his hand with a wink. "You look like you could need it." He had to grin, he definitely _felt_ like he could need it. He unstopped the bottle and took a swig. His face contorted into a grimace as the alcohol burned down his throat. But it did help against the qualm.

"Thank you." He handed the bottle back to her, but she shook her head telling him to keep it.

"You were a great help in there. I don't know if Katrina and the babe would have made it without you," she said and patted him on the shoulder before going into the tent to look after the new mother and her infant. He continued to go to the open space in front of his and Eragon's tent, where Thorn lay curled up, discarding the bottle of alcohol on the way. He was no drunk like his father used to be. He sat quietly next to his dragon who curled around him wordlessly.

They stayed like this, simply enjoying each other's presence and sharing just feelings and thoughts, until Eragon and Saphira returned, closely followed by Azaelyn who came from the main entrance. Since the clearing amongst the tents wasn't big enough to accommodate Evarín the dragon had to stay on the outside which didn't seem to bother her too greatly.

He explained what had happened during their absence. On hearing the news Eragon quickly made his way to Katrina while Azaelyn settled down next to him. She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He sensed that she was tired.

"I'm not the only one who's had a hard day, I reckon," he said putting his arm around her waist. She sighed contentedly.

"There is a lot of work ahead of Evarín and me," she simply stated with a strange sadness in her voice.

"We should retire for the night," he suggested and Azaelyn nodded in agreement. Once they got up he swooped her into his arms which made her laugh.

"What would I ever do without you?" she asked.

"You'd probably walk those few feet to the tent all on your own just fine," he replied mockingly, grinning broadly. Inside the tent he gently put her down on the cot and leaned over her to kiss her deeply. Her hand caressed his chin and she grinned slyly against his lips. Knowing why she was grinning like that he said, "They're shaved off tomorrow."


	24. Proposal

**C****hapter 23: Proposal**

Things seemed to be lighting up in the following weeks. The Varden were moving steadily towards Belatona and there was a good chance the siege would go fairly peaceful, considering the city would be facing the armies of the Varden, dwarves, Urgals and Surda and-more importantly- three dragons and their Riders. There hadn't been any more attacks from the Empire which no one considered to be a bad thing.

Spring was on a full break, turning the landscape into an ocean of green, broken occasionally by specks of colorful flower fields. The air was warm and filled with the singing of birds and buzzing of insects.

For Murtagh things seemed to become all the better every day. The people had an entirely new respect for him since word spread of him killing two of the Forsworn. Like Orik had foretold they now called him _Wraithslayer_, though Murtagh wasn't sure just how much the dwarf king had his own hands in the circulation of the name. Even the elves treated him nicely now and though he didn't exactly build friendships with them he no longer resented their presence.

The happiness had been dimmed a little the day Katrina and Garrow had left for safety in Surda with Elain, a woman from Carvahall who had become mother in late summer last year. He had grown very fond of Roran's wife. They had bonded over the birthing and he found her to be easy to talk to. She had told him many stories from her old village, of Eragon and Roran and of the late Garrow. She had also taken to the task of introducing him to all the people from Carvahall, saying that under different circumstances he might have grown up amongst them. It was a strange thought and not one he liked lingering on too much, for it made him regret his own childhood all the more. Not because he was still ashamed of it, but because he would have preferred to grow up with Eragon and Roran in the little village at the foot of the Spine.

Then there was Azaelyn. Though she spent long hours of nearly every day working and training with Evarín their relationship was definitely thriving. Officially she had a tent of her own, but she rarely used it and only if he was in it with her. An idea had been forming in his mind for quite some time now, but he wasn't certain of it yet.

He was lying on the training field on his back, his arms crossed behind his head, his left leg slightly bent, Eragon sitting next to him drinking from his waterskin. They had discarded their swords a short distance away and were now resting after four hours of sparring. Thorn and Saphira lay together at the edge of the training field. They'd been watching their Riders duel, now they seemed to be lost in conversations of their own.

"Azaelyn's been gone quite a while this time," Eragon noticed. Indeed, she had been gone for almost three days, travelling along the Spine with Evarín.

"Aye, but she said she'd come back in three days, so that would be today," he replied sitting up and taking a swig from his own waterskin. "When are we going to reach Belatona?" he asked, changing the subject. Eragon thought for a moment.

"Well, if we keep the pace up and nothing goes amiss, we should reach it in about a week. I hope we'll be able to take the city without having to fight much"

"Even if we have to fight, the city will never hold long," Murtagh said confidently.

"It will if Galbatorix sends the Wraiths. We might be three now, but there are still ten of them left. And Azaelyn doesn't have a Rider's sword." That was all true, but he hoped they wouldn't have to face the Wraiths just yet. He placed his hand on his side were the ribs had been broken from the first time the ghostly Forsworn had attacked. Fighting them had brought him near death twice and the other two times it had been either Azaelyn or Evarín to keep them from fighting. It was impossible to tell if he'd survive a fifth encounter or if one of the others got killed. All this made his resolution all the clearer and he knew he'd have to do it as soon as possible in case they were running out of time.

It was evening when Azaelyn finally saw the mass of gray tents. The trip to the Spine had been fantastic. She had never understood why so many people feared the mountain range. Next to the Beor Mountains it was one of the most magnificent places in Alagaësia. None the less she had missed the others- and Murtagh especially.

_Things have changed much indeed since I was imprisoned. I don't recall you spending so much time with thoughts over males_, Evarín said amused. Her flight was entirely silent as she glided on a slowly descending current of air. The twilight made her nearly white scales glisten in a pale blue light. Azaelyn knew perfectly well, why she had chosen to give her dragon a name that meant _star_ in the ancient language.

_You'd think it natural for things to change in thirty years. You didn't think I would remain without a man by my side forever, did you? _Evarín touched ground just before the outermost rows of tents.

_No, I knew you'd find a mate eventually_. Though the dragoness let no ill feelings flow into her words or tone of voice, Azaelyn could see her sadness in the pale, silvery-blue eyes.

_I know you miss him_, Azaelyn said. She wanted to continue, wanted to say something comforting, but nothing came to her mind. Evarín's situation was downright hopeless they both knew that and no words would change that.

_I'm fine. I long for a memory, nothing more_. The white dragon curled up on the ground, closing her eyes and pretending to fall asleep immediately. Azaelyn decided to give her the space she obviously wanted right now. She turned to the tents and made her way to the clearing where she found Saphira and Thorn lying side by side. Greeting them in passing she slipped into Murtagh's tent as silently as possible.

He was lying on his cot asleep with an open book lying on his bare chest. The sight made her smile despite her sullen mood. It still surprised her sometimes how his very closeness could push away all the troubles in her mind. Even when they started courting in secret she had never dared to imagine that her love for him could ever run as deeply as it did now and contrariwise.

She walked up to him and took the book. It was a copy of _Domia abr Wyrda_, the _Dominance of Fate_, a book that chronicled the history of Alagaësia from the time before the elves came to these lands until shortly before the Dragon War. She knew how much he enjoyed reading, he had made his way through almost a fourth of her private library back in Urû'baen, which was no easy deed to accomplish. He had had difficulties with texts written in the ancient language though that had never kept him from trying to read them, he would always ask her to translate if his own knowledge of vocabulary was exhausted.

She put the book on the table and began to rid herself of her belt, tunic, shirt, boots and leggings, retrieving her nightgown to put on. After that she washed herself and went to lie down next to Murtagh.

He woke when the weight on the bed shifted and looked over to her. "You've been gone a while. I expected you back sometime in the afternoon." It was a simple statement, no accusation.

"And that had been the plan, but we chose to make a quick stop by the ocean. It's been so long since I've seen it last." She told him all that had happened on her trip, also about her discontent that her connection to Evarín wasn't building up as fast as she had hoped.

"I'm sure it'll be fine in time. Maybe the two of you just have to start from the beginning," he comforted her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She sighed and cuddled into his embrace.

"Where did you get that book?" she asked looking over to the table where the _Domia abr Wyrda_ lay.

"I borrowed it from Eragon and he got it from a merchant from Teirm, Jeod." She nodded.

"Of him I've heard. He helped Brom steal Saphira's egg," again she sighed, "It would have saved you much trouble if they had managed to snatch Thorn's egg as well."

"Maybe," Murtagh chuckled, "But then I wouldn't be here with you, would I?" His face suddenly grew very serious and he sat up.

"What's wrong, _anamiet_?" she asked as she straightened up in bed behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"It's possible one of us dies in this war," he said and turned to look at Azaelyn. She couldn't define the emotions that flickered in his eyes, but his words made her heart beat faster with fear. It was the truth, a truth she had been denying herself. She remained silent and waited for him to speak again. "But even if we both live through this it wouldn't change my mind," he continued and smiled softly.

He turned towards her fully and took her hand in his. "Azaelyn, I know we haven't been together all that long yet though my passion for you has been growing for several years now. I know I have nothing to offer you but my undying love, which- I'm afraid- will keep you neither clothed, fed or warm in winter. I know our time together might be limited. None the less…" he broke off and took a deep breath, settling his nervousness that had been breaking through in his voice, making it a bit shaky. Azaelyn felt a lump in her throat and tears stinging behind her eyes. "None the less- may it be ten days, ten years or tens of thousands- I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She was gaping at him open-mouthed, stunned at what was happening. "Azaelyn… Do you want to marry me?"

The moment the words had escaped his mouth, the lump in her throat gave way to the tears. She pressed her free hand against her mouth as tears of undimmed joy ran down her cheeks. She knew the candle light from the nightstand revealed her feelings in her pure golden eyes. She fell into his arms, hugging him fiercely. "Yes!" she cried out, both laughing and sobbing, "Yes, I want to marry you!" She felt him release his pent-up breath in relief. Had he truly thought she'd answer with _no_?

Seemingly reading her thoughts, he said, "I know how you feel about me, but I wasn't sure whether you'd want to get married as it is custom by human tradition and I don't know of any Riders' traditions."

"Most Riders simply chose mates the way elves do, but some also got married, though the ceremony is a bit different than human customs."

"If we want to do it like the Riders used to, we'd need someone who knows how they celebrated such unions." He wanted to make this just right for her, she noticed that. She smiled at him.

"I happen to know someone who does."


	25. The Politics of Marriage

**Chapter 24:**** The Politics of Marriage**

Word of their engagement spread quickly throughout the Varden's camp and everyone- humans, dwarves and Urgals alike- congratulated them. Every race was already heavily discussing about their contributions to such an historical celebration. Even the elves were deep in planning.

_You have aroused quite an excitement_, Saphira commented amused as she watched the two-legged busying themselves more than ever before.

The three Riders, Roran and Arya stood by Saphira and Thorn in front of their tents, Murtagh leaning against Thorn's front leg. Azaelyn stood in front of her white stallion, Artax. He wore neither saddle nor bridle, just a leather band around his neck to which she just attached a scroll.

"You'll find him, won't you?" she asked the stallion. The horse nickered and nibbled the hem of her sleeve as if he was trying to reassure her. She smiled at him and scratched his forehead right beneath the shock of white mane. "Be careful!" Artax snorted and trotted off, out of the Varden's camp, past Evarín who gave him a testy glance, before closing her eyes again and dozing as she did most of the time when she wasn't flying somewhere.

"Is there a date set already?" Arya asked referring to the wedding.

"No. It will depend on how soon Artax returns," Azaelyn answered. Again she was very secretive. She told no one who Artax was supposed to find, though the horse seemed to know it. Murtagh only knew the person had something to do with the wedding and its procedure.

While waiting for the horse to return Murtagh and Azaelyn found themselves entangled not only in their tasks as Riders in the face of the siege on Belatona, which was drawing nearer, but also in a lot of planning for the upcoming wedding.

"All I had to do was ask for Nasuada's permission. I'm glad Katrina and I aren't Riders," Roran said when Murtagh returned from a long debate with Orik and his council. The dwarves wanted their priests to call on Gûntera like they did during the coronation of their kings. It was a great honor, seeing how much value the dwarves gave their marriage, but neither he nor Azaelyn thought much of the dwarf priests' illusions. Neither were they certain about their intents. Many clans were still against their race's participation in this war. If their priests manipulated Gûntera's illusion to be dismissive it could cause many dwarves to lose faith in their collaboration. The tricky part was talking the dwarves out of the idea without being offensive.

Then there was the Council of Elders. Since Azaelyn had once sworn fealty to the Varden's leader, which was now Nasuada, the Council wished Murtagh to swear oaths as well. Their request put him in a dilemma with Orrin's nobles who wanted him to swear fealty to Surda since the Varden already had two Riders and their land none. Besides, they argued, he'd be welded to the Varden through his bride-to-be, so oaths were only necessary to Surda. Murtagh, however, had no desire to bind himself to either one.

"If I had known our marriage was going to be such a political affaire, I might have waited a while longer before I proposed," Murtagh said and sat down on the ground next to Thorn's foreleg. Roran and Eragon sat down as well, Arya preferred to stand. Azaelyn was nowhere in sight as she was seeing someone about the wedding plans.

"Then someone else would make it all about politics. It's one role you cannot possibly escape," Arya said. She was probably right.

_The important thing is that you and Azaelyn will be considered mates also by human standards_, Thorn said.

_And after the marriage the commotion will settle again_, Saphira contributed. Her words almost made him wish that the wedding was already over. He was sure he'd kill the next person to talk about swearing anything.

It was late when Azaelyn returned and she was absolutely fuming. She threw a bunch of kerchiefs on the table and held up two of them. "Ivory or seashell?" she asked angrily. Her mood told him he better not give the wrong answer, so he looked at the fabrics closely. They were both off-white with a slight creamy tone, but to him they both looked identical. He swallowed.

"Is… is there supposed to be a difference?" he questioned carefully. She sighed with what he thought was relief.

"Thank you!" she said exasperated. "They've been pestering me with such ridiculous decisions all day. I can't tell the bloody difference between ivory and seashell, but they're acting as if I was the only person in the world that couldn't and apparently it's a matter of life and death which one I'll choose for the wedding. Not to mention flowers for table settings. Would I rather want tulips or roses? Put dandelions on the stupid tables for all I care! My time would be spent much wiser when helping to construct a plan for the siege on Belatona, but that seems to pale against the crucial decision of what dessert will be served..." It took her almost ten minutes to calm down again and Murtagh had to fight real hard not to start laughing, though he couldn't quite suppress his grin. He had never seen her so agitated.

"You had a difficult day then?" he asked, grinning broadly. She looked up at him and gave a liberating laugh to loosen her own tension.

"This is all just so ludicrous," she said, hugging him, a gesture he returned.

"It'll be over eventually. The wedding will be spectacular… with ivory tablecloths, white roses and strawberry tarts." He couldn't resist teasing her a bit on the subject. A light poke in the side was his reward.

"Don't you make fun of me, Murtagh, or I might call the whole wedding off," her grin told him she wasn't serious.

"Is that a threat?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and a sober voice, though the effect was ruined by his own grin.

"Consider it a promise." She got on her tiptoes. Understanding the hint he leaned his head towards hers and they met in the middle in an affectionate kiss. After breaking away she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I guess we won't manage to marry before the fight in Belatona." She nodded in agreement. They were only two more days away from Belatona and Artax hadn't returned yet.

"Maybe that's a good thing though. I find an approaching battle to be something of a dark shadow and I wouldn't want it hanging over our wedding day."

"Do you think we'll have to fight much?"

"Lord Roark is a reasonable man. I don't think he'll sacrifice his men for a battle that's already lost. I suppose, if the Varden can guarantee him and his people safety from Galbatorix, he might surrender without bloodshed," Azaelyn said.

"Have you met him before?"

"A few times. I've always liked him. He is a smart and brave man, devoted to the craftsmanship his city is so famous for. He has a wife and two little sons… well, they're probably not that little anymore, round about your age, I reckon."

"Maybe we should marry before the siege," he joked which made her laugh.

"Are you afraid of a little competition?" she asked mockingly. He bent down and kissed her passionately, his fingers lightly caressing the side of her neck the way, he knew, that made her knees weak.

"No," he answered confidently. They got ready for bed and lay down together.

"Orik wants to meet with us again tomorrow. Some of his grimstborith are still insisting on Gûntera to appear otherwise they'll consider the marriage as unworthy as if the god had denied us," Azaelyn said and Murtagh groaned.

"We're not even dwarves so why are they bothering?"

"They say since Eragon is a member of Durgrimst Ingeitum and you are his brother that practically makes you part of the clan. A cheap way of trying to get control over you and- through you- me, but effective no less. We cannot contradict them without offending all dwarves and possibly turning them against us," she explained.

"Now what? Should we have their priests summon Gûntera then? What if they make him reject us? If that happens even the Ingeitum clan will be against us. You know how much they worship their gods."

"I'm fully aware of the implications," she sighed, "I don't want some delusion of a god to appear to our wedding, but fact remains that the odds of losing the dwarves as allies is greater if we decline their _offer_." She cuddled into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder while his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer. "Orik wants to see us alone without the council. He's a strong believer himself, but faith doesn't blind him, I hope we can come up with a solution for our quandary."

"It's Surda's nobles I'm worried about," Murtagh commented. She looked up at him questioningly and he explained, "They want me to swear fealty. They think my bond to you will also bind me to the Varden, because you are pledged to them. I'm worried they'll turn their backs on the Varden. Orrin might be in favor of us, but not even he can go against all his associates. I just don't want to swear any oaths to anyone."

"The Elders wish you to pledge yourself to the Varden as well. I'm afraid you might find it difficult to evade all their requests, we'll have to find a solution for that as well."

Murtagh laughed humorlessly and said, "The politics of marriage."


	26. Blood Magic

**Chapter 25: ****Blood Magic**

The day before the siege all the fussing over the wedding ceased, no doubt to be continued afterwards. It was a welcomed reprieve as Murtagh and Azaelyn already played with the thought of running away and getting married in secret somewhere.

The Riders, Saphira, Thorn, Arya and Roran sat on the clearing of tents and watched as the men scurried about in preparation of battle. They all had their distinct orders from Nasuada should it come to an actual fight. Azaelyn was certain Galbatorix wouldn't send reinforcements, that they wouldn't encounter any strong resistance before they reached Dras-Leona. Though it was possible that the king no longer considered Dras-Leona of importance, which meant that he would pull back his army to the gates of Urû'baen, possibly send more to Gil'ead that had been captured by the elves in an attempt to free the city.

Murtagh looked over at Azaelyn. She had an indifferent expression on her face, staring at the warriors deep in thought. Her mood had been dropping continuously for the past few days. He wasn't sure whether it only had to do with all the preparations for the siege and the wedding, he had the feeling that there was something else that was bothering her, but she remained silent about it.

It wasn't before evening that calm crept over the camp. The quiet before the storm. Everyone prayed that Belatona wasn't going to put up a fight.

Azaelyn and Murtagh were just getting ready to go to bed, when Nasuada entered their tent, forcing Murtagh to take a dive behind the folding screen as he was completely undressed. Azaelyn was already wearing a nightgown so she had nothing to worry about.

"Forgive my intrusion," Nasuada said.

"There's nothing in need of forgiveness," Azaelyn answered and gestured to a chair, which the leader of the rebels gladly accepted. The spellweaver noticed right away that Nasuada was in a bad condition. She walked up to her and grabbed her arms. "May I?" Nasuada simply nodded and Azaelyn rolled up the sleeves of her orange dress. The cuts from her Trial of the Long Knives hadn't healed in all this time, but were now badly inflamed. "You should have let me take a look at these sooner," Azaelyn scorned.

"It is against the rules to use magic for healing," Nasuada argued.

"I'm aware of the laws of your tribe, lady Nasuada. There are other methods of healing." She got up and walked to Artax's saddle that lay in a corner, rummaging through the saddlebags. She pulled out a small phial and returned to the dark-skinned woman. She sat down before her and opened it, revealing a brown-gray ointment. It smelled strongly of hyacinth, ginseng and clover and many other herbs and plants that were foreign even to her own nose. "This cream will make the inflammation recede and the wounds heal faster."

"What's in it?"

"Mostly herbs from far off lands and some things you don't want to know," Azaelyn said smiling, pressing the vial into Nasuada's hands. "Put it on the wounds every evening, then it shouldn't take much longer than a week before they're completely healed."

"Thank you," Nasuada said with wholeheartedness, then her face grew darker, "But that's not why I came here." Azaelyn nodded, she hadn't expected it. "If Belatona wishes to fight… do you have means of scaring them?" She thought for a moment.

"If we fight on the battle fields of old then yes, I could think of a few ways of frightening them, though I'd rather not, it would acquire magic I'm not at all comfortable with on moral terms."

"But you could? If the need arose? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't know you're the only one accomplished enough for such grand spells. I've already talked to Trianna, the leader of Du Vrangr Gata, but neither she nor the other spellcasters have the means for it. It would just be better to win Belatona without bloodshed, if Dras-Leona is indeed reinforced, we'll need all the men we can get." Nasuada looked pleadingly at the former princess. Azaelyn sighed.

"If it is needed I'll do what I can," she simply stated. Nasuada looked relieved. Murtagh came out from behind the screen, dressed in pants and a shirt, which he hadn't bothered to close, revealing much of his chest.

"Then I'll leave the two of you alone now." Nasuada stood up and walked out after she bade them good night.

"What kind of magic are we talking about?" Murtagh wanted to know. She got up and walked to the candle that still lit the tent, extinguishing it with her thumb and forefinger.

"The type that'll shed bad light on me."

The outer walls of Belatona were easily spotted from up high as the dragons and their Riders flew over the heads of the armies of the Varden, dwarves, Urgals and Surda. An army of red clad soldiers stood before the gates of the city, all on foot, apart from three men at the front. Murtagh guessed it was Lord Roark and his sons.

The army of rebels stopped a few leagues away from the enemy. Orrin, Nasuada, Garzhvog and Orik marched towards the three mounted soldiers; Orrin and Nasuada on horseback, Orik on a Feldûnost and Garzhvog on foot. They met in the middle of the battle field and the three dragons dove to join them, landing with hard thuds, scaring the three horses that were yet unfamiliar with their presence. The Riders got off and stood by the side of their dragons.

Lord Roark's face shifted to Azaelyn and he bowed his head slightly. "I knew not that you have changed sides, my lady. You've always been the king's favorite spellcaster." She kept quiet, also ignoring the stares given to her by the lord's sons, which didn't get past Murtagh though. He clenched his fist angrily, but remained stationary.

"Lord Roark, on behalf of the Varden, Surda, the dwarves and the Urgals, we promise you protection from Galbatorix if you surrender now," Nasuada said, which made the elderly man chuckle.

"Lady Nasuada, I'm no fool. I'd spare each and every one of these men's lives if it were in my power, but like all lords I'm pledged to the king and cannot simply give up without a fight. Some of you know what that is like." The man's gaze traveled to Murtagh, who squirmed slightly as Roark's dark eyes seemed to look right through him. That man had a most unsettling insight.

"Your men aren't sworn to the king, are they?" Nasuada asked.

"No, but I cannot command them to abandon me and the city, my lady." Nasuada looked at Azaelyn, who grimaced.

"Then we must make them surrender." With that she gave the Rider a nod. Deliberately Azaelyn pulled her sword and walked towards the army of Belatona. Neither Roark nor his sons tried to stop her. A pledge did not mean willing loyalty, a concept Galbatorix had never taken the time to ponder over. He missed to grasp the fact that people forced into obedience were more likely to turn on him at the first chance than those who willingly followed him.

Once she was half way between the others and the walls of the city she stopped. She closed her eyes and gathered her energy. How much she hated herself right now. With all force she rammed her blade into the ground and said, "_Reisa du blödh_." Raise the blood. She stepped back as a dark red liquid rose from the earth where her sword was stuck in the ground. The blood of countless battles that had been fought on these very fields they were standing on now. It now leaked out from other places in the ground, as if the earth itself had been wounded, flowing towards the red army.

_Such magic should never be practiced, it disturbs the peace of those who have fought and fallen_, Evarín said in her head.

_No it shouldn't. But what would you have me do? It's the only way to keep them from fighting_, Azaelyn replied.

_What if it doesn't?_ Azaelyn didn't answer her dragon this time. If it didn't work she had two options; let them fight or use necromancy and resurrect the dead. Alone the thought of it made her despise herself even more.

But to her fortune, the warriors seemed disturbed enough by the sight of the blood rising from the ground, one by one they let their weapons drop and went to their knees as a sign for surrender. She cut the flow of energy which made the blood instantly disappear again. It had taken little toll on her. Slowly she retrieved her sword and walked to the others. They were pale with disbelieve in there eyes. She had told Murtagh what would happen, but seeing it was much harder than hearing about it.

"Aye, powerful indeed," Roark commented once he regained his composure, then turned to Nasuada, "Your Rider seems to have just won you Belatona."

People regarded her with wary faces when she walked through the Varden's camp. She knew it would be like this. Blood was something people had learned to fear and she seemed to have produced it out of nowhere.

She reached Murtagh's tent and went inside. He was sitting at the table, didn't look up when he heard her come in. "You shouldn't have done that," he stated, finally raising his gaze to meet hers.

"I didn't want to, but it was the only way of winning without a battle," she defended herself, walking to the wash basin and splashing cool water in her face. She leaned on the basin with her lower arms, letting the water drip from her face. She felt sick, images of the reddened ground returning to her mind. Bewitching the remains of the dead, any remains, was considered the darkest of magic. She had learned it from her father of course, but had sworn never to use it.

She felt Murtagh's hand on her shoulder, warmth seeping into the cold she felt all around her. "It'll be alright," he assured her and his words rang with a confidence that almost made her believe them to be true.

"Kind of puts a dent in our wedding plans," she smiled. He shrugged.

"Maybe they'll finally back off and we can have some peace." It was unlikely, but at the moment she was just glad that he stayed with her despite her demonstration of black magic…


	27. Separation

**Chapter 26: Separation**

It took the people almost a week to recover from their fear of Azaelyn. Once it had past she was immediately pestered with the most boring questions about her wedding again. She was amazed how many details had to be taken care of and how many decisions there were to make. She had only ever been to two weddings and had never paid the setting too much interest. She wished she had paid closer attention to some things Eorun had told her.

The Varden, Surdans and dwarves didn't stop bothering her or Murtagh about their political issues. Orik couldn't manage to get his clan chiefs to rethink about wanting to summon Gûntera and now the Urgals were starting to argue since they had gods of their own and they didn't want the dwarves' gods to make an appearance.

"It's just all blowing out of proportions. I want to marry her, not found a new country or become king or anything," Murtagh complained to Roran. The two of them had grown even closer since Murtagh had helped Katrina deliver the baby and since Roran already was married, he seemed like the right person to talk to.

"Well, you sort of triggered a historical event. There hasn't been a marriage between Riders for at least a hundred years, probably more. It was to be expected," his younger cousin argued.

"I did expect some turbulence, but this is ridiculous." He sighed and leaned against a stone on the edge of the training field, where he had been sparring with Roran, since Eragon was absent on Nasuada's missions. Roran had no elven strength like Eragon or himself, but he was a formidable foe in combat no less. "I wouldn't care about all this if it wouldn't take so much out of Azaelyn. It's tradition for the woman to take care of the planning, but they are just wearing her out. Her mood is worse then ever before and I have no idea what to do. I've already tried to relieve her of all this nonsense, but they won't let me and I can't even shield her from the political problems because they affect her as well." He watched from a distance as Thorn sneaked up on Evarín like a cat on a mouse, but her quick peeks back told him she already knew his dragon was trying to stalk her. Sometimes it became very apparent that Thorn was still almost a hatchling despite his size and he took a fancy to playing with the older dragoness, particularly when Saphira wasn't around.

"I thought you said you don't believe the planning is the only thing that bothers her," Roran remembered.

"Don't know what else it could be. She won't talk to me about it." The truth was that he felt her slipping away and he didn't know how to keep hold on her, because he couldn't find out what was getting between them. They had gotten into two arguments by now that had caused her to sleep in her own tent for three nights and ignore him during the day. He couldn't even remember the reasons for their fights, unimportant things, things they shouldn't have to fight over. Apart from that she didn't tell him what bothered her, hardly talked to him at all anymore.

Roran gripped Murtagh by the shoulder and made him look at his cousin. "You'll get through this, whatever problems you have, you'll get through them. You two belong together, a blind man could see that. If you can't manage to hold together in such times, what hope remains for the rest of us?" He grinned broadly, which made Murtagh smile as well.

"Gûntera has always been witness to such important events," one of the dwarf chiefs said. Murtagh hadn't bothered to learn their names. He'd ask Eragon if he needed them.

"Gûntera!" Garzhvog said disgusted. "Rahna has always watched over marriages," he said referring to the mother goddess of the Urgals. Murtagh looked over at Azaelyn. She was sitting in her chair, her elbow resting on the armrest and her head leaning on her hand. She seemed to pay no attention to the discussion. Did she no longer care?

One of the dwarf priests snorted disapprovingly and though Murtagh didn't understand what he said as the dwarf spoke in his native tongue, his tone of voice made it obvious he didn't want a translation, which is why he waved off the dwarf who had been assigned to him for such meetings as a translator and who had been leaning in to do his job. He rubbed his forehead to massage away the headache that was building there. He was tired of these disputes. There must have been at least ten by now and they all resulted in the same way; everyone was unhappy.

The dwarf's outburst resulted in a shouting match between the dwarves and Urgals, which took Orik and Garzhvog nearly fifteen minutes to calm again. Neither Murtagh nor Azaelyn had moved as much as an inch, watching the spectacle with silent distaste. The discourse continued on more civilized grounds and Orik shot him an apologetic look.

Murtagh was about to say something in his and Azaelyn's interest when she suddenly got up and left the tent. Everyone stared after her in surprise. Getting up himself he excused them and ran after her. He caught up with her not a minute later.

"What was that about?" he asked agitated. She should know better then to offend the dwarves and Urgals. She said nothing, just kept on walking. Her ignorance infuriated him all the more and he grabbed her arm to spin her around. When she faced him he looked into her angry, black eyes. "At least tell me what's going on if you already humiliate me in front of them" He had started shouting without being aware of it.

"Humiliate you?" she asked bitingly.

"You can't just get up and leave without a word!" He didn't notice the people gathering around them and neither did she.

"I'm sick and tired of their debates, they bring us nowhere! I'm sick and tired of people asking me what flowers I want or what courses should be served! I'm sick and tired of the Elders and Surdan nobles getting on _my_ nerves because they want _your_ oaths! I'm sick and tired of all of this, all this rubbish!" She was yelling now, an aura of energy crackling around her, fuelled by her fury.

"What do you want then? Do you want to call the wedding off?" The moment the words had left his mouth he regretted them, because he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Yes!" Her reply came like a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs. For a moment he just stared at her unbelievingly, then his expression hardened.

"Fine, if that's what you want, so be it! The wedding is off!" He turned on his heels and stormed through the crowd, leaving Azaelyn behind.

"Murtagh!" he heard Eragon yell his name, but didn't bother to slow down. He was fuming. His younger brother caught up with him, panting a little. "What's gotten into you?" Eragon asked incredulously.

Murtagh rounded on his brother, ready to blow off some steam, "What's gotten into me? Nothing's gotten into me! She's the one acting all strange. She wants to call off the wedding? Fine with me!" He continued to walk to his tent. He felt Thorn's mind brush his, but blocked the dragon out.

He stormed into his tent and closed the entrance by magic so no one could come after him. He sat down on his bed and instantly all his energy and anger seemed to drain from him, all his heated anger. Always had he considered heart break to be a metaphorical description, not an actual physical condition, but now he felt a deepening ache in his chest and each heartbeat pained him. Slowly he became aware that he just lost the only good thing that had ever come into his life aside from Thorn and the comprehension hurt all the more, tore even more at his heart, made his breathing difficult.

He buried his head in the palms of his hands and cried for the first time in years.

Azaelyn was standing on the shores of Leona-Lake, staring at the setting sun. Tears streamed down her face. She knew she had pushed him away too far. She hadn't wanted to, but it had all become too much. The politics, the wedding plans and something else. And the last was weighing heavily on her, it had caused her to snap and tear apart the one thing she had hoped never to lose; her relationship with Murtagh.

She noticed Evarín approaching, trying to contact her, but she pulled up her barriers, keeping the dragoness out of her mind. "I don't want to talk to you or see you right now!" she hissed and started running northwest along the shores. She just wanted to be alone and Evarín was not the one she wanted to be with right now. She found a rock formation along the waterline and climbed onto it. The top rock was flat and warm from being heated by the sun all day. She settled down on it and reflected on the past few weeks. Things had been getting out of hand. She knew Murtagh had been trying to help her, but hadn't been able to, instead of being grateful for his attempts she hadn't shared her problems with him, though he had asked her about it plenty of times. She had been trying to deal with it on her own, but it had destroyed everything in the end…

* * *

**I still keep hoping that someday I'll get inspired again by this story and I'll finish writing it. I don't want to leave it unfinished. I'd hoped reading the last of the Inheritance books would get me back into the mindset, but it didn't really work. So, in the hopes that I'll finish this story someday, I'll post the remaining chapter that I did finish.**


	28. Broken Hearts

**Chapter 27: Broken Hearts**

Eragon watched his brother and Azaelyn closely over the next few days, hoping to see signs of a reunion, but they kept their distance to each other. There were occasional glances in the direction of the other, but apart from that… nothing.

Azaelyn had gotten all her belongings from Murtagh's tent while he had been gone with Thorn. The strange thing was that she also kept away from Evarín. Before she and Murtagh separated, she would fly with her dragon at least every second day, now the white dragoness flew alone and her Rider spent most of her time in her tent.

Murtagh was still close to Thorn, but the dragon was currently the only one able to reach him.

"I would have never believed that they'd fall apart like this," Arya said, sadness in her voice. Eragon agreed with her. Of all couples they were the last he expected to fail.

_If their bond cannot hold, what bond can?_ He asked himself.

_Ours for instance_, Saphira replied, nudging his arm. He patted her snout, smiling up at her.

A week passed since their separation and Azaelyn felt no better about it, but she couldn't lie around and read anymore. She decided to go into Belatona to look at the market. The traveling salesmen had come to the city and were offering their merchandize of herbs, jewelry, animal skins and all sorts of commodities from other cities, towns and villages in the Empire.

She was standing at a booth with wooden carvings, looking at a beautiful sculpture of a rearing horse, when she heard someone shout her name. She turned around and saw a young man run towards him. She recognized his blond hair and deep blue eyes. "Lothar! I haven't seen much of you lately," she said. He grinned sheepishly.

"Well, I found a smith amongst the Varden who was willing to complete my apprenticeship now I'm looking for a job here. Belatona is known for its craftsmanship so I guessed this would be the best place to look for one," he told her.

"I'm glad for you," she smiled falsely, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Should I show you the shop I'm interested in?" he asked. She was about to decline, but then chose to go with him. She had nothing better to do anyways. He led her through a few alleyways until he reached a boarded up old shop. It wasn't anything big, but it had everything he would need to open a forge.

"It's really nice. Did you buy the place already?" she wanted to know.

"I'm afraid not. The owner still hopes to convince his son to take over the shop, but he'd rather become a monk," Lothar shrugged. They went to a pub where he ordered them two pints of ale. He continued talking about the shop and his visions for it, speaking with so much enthusiasm it made Azaelyn forget her problems for the time being and actually made her laugh. After they had finished their drinks he led her through the city for a while, pointing out some interesting details. It wasn't the first time she had been in Belatona and she knew most of the buildings, landmarks and streets he talked about, but she just wanted him to continue talking in the lively way he did.

It was already dark when they reached the city gates. "I had a good time today, thank you, Lothar," she said and it was honest.

"So did I, we should do it again sometime," he replied and she nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of time before the Varden move on to Dras-Leona." They bade each other good night and he went back into the city where he was staying at an inn.

She turned around and stopped immediately. Murtagh was standing there, a few feet away down the road. His look of hurt and betrayal told her he had been standing there for a while. She knew he didn't like Lothar, for reasons he had never been able to explain with more than gut feeling. She also knew that there was no reason for her to feel bad, but she did. He just stood there and looked at her, then turned around and walked off. She felt tears stinging in the back of her eyes, she tried to suppress them, with no success. But she did manage to fight the urge to run after him. With him she hadn't been so alone and now she felt more alone than ever before. She had lost him and she didn't want to talk to Evarín.

Murtagh had gone to the shores of LeonaLake and was throwing rocks with all force to try and build off the aching feeling in his chest, to no avail. To see her with him… it had been like another blow. She had had a good time with him, did she? He knew he had no right to be feeling like she had cheated on him, they weren't together anymore, but he did none the less.

_It'll get better with time_, Thorn said. The dragon landed next to him.

_What do you know?_ Murtagh snapped back, but regretted it instantly. Thorn was just trying to help. _I'm sorry, Thorn_, he apologized.

_It's alright, little one_, the dragon looked at him sympathetically and rubbed his snout against Murtagh's side.

_It's just so hard to see her all the time. I still care for her and now she's courting that blacksmith_, he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat as his eyes began to sting dangerously again.

_And it will be hard for a while, but eventually time heals all wounds_, Thorn said wisely. Murtagh fingered the ruby ring Azaelyn had given to him to protect him and Thorn from Galbatorix.

_Not all wounds heal over time, Thorn, and I'm not sure whether I want this one to heal at all. I want her back, it's that simple. But I just can't face her right now_.

It wasn't for another three days before Azaelyn heard of Lothar again. He had a message sent to her to meet him by the gates. Again she wasn't sure if she should follow his invitation and again she chose to go.

He stood just outside the city, looking excited. She walked up to him and they exchanged greetings. "I want to tell you something," he said.

"Then tell me," she replied, but he shook his head.

"Not here. Come with me." He led her away from the city to the shoreline. She gasped when she saw a picnic set up on the beach. "I have reason to celebrate and you're the only one I know here. Well, except Eragon and the others, but I haven't seen any of them lately, apart from Murtagh and I don't think he'd want to do anything with me," Lothar chortled.

"You've… You've seen Murtagh?" She knew how absurd it was to cling to every bit of conversation that revolved around him.

"Aye, the last time we met. He was there when we said goodbye," he reminded her, still smiling.

"Oh, right. He was, wasn't he?" she sighed. "Well, what do we have to celebrate?" she said to change topic before he started asking her uncomfortable questions.

"I bought the shop last night!" His eyes lit up like a little boy's who had just gotten a new toy.

"That's fantastic, Lothar! Congratulations!" she gave him a quick hug before drawing back again. He smelled of metal, fire and smoke. It made her miss the scent of wood, leather and the clean air that could only be found above the clouds. It made her miss Murtagh's scent.

They ate together at the beach, talking all the while. If he knew anything of her failed attempt of a wedding he said nothing and stayed away from the topic. He spoke of his old village, of politics- he was well informed for a simple smith, of Belatona and its people and of his ideas for the future. She usually just listened, throwing in a question or statement occasionally. She found solace in his companionship though he couldn't wipe away the emptiness and loneliness like Murtagh always had. She wished she could go back to him, but she couldn't. He probably wouldn't want her back anyway, not after what she had done to him.

"Azaelyn?" She was torn from her thoughts when Lothar spoke her name.

"What is it?"

"I asked if you wanted to go back," he said.

"Oh," she sighed, "I'm sorry, I was somewhere else with my thoughts."

"So I noticed." If he was mad he didn't show it, he smiled at her as kindly as always. "Would you like to go then?" She nodded and they made their way up to the city again, where they said goodbye. Roran expected her at the Varden's camp.

"Since when are you fooling around with Lothar?" he asked. She shot him a cold look.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she replied.

"I guess not, because I really don't have the slightest idea why on earth you're running around with a person Murtagh hates right after you end your relationship with him." Roran's words stung her deep. She knew he had a point.

"It's really none of your business." She felt Evarín land behind her and again the dragon tried to establish a connection to her. "You stay away!" With that she ran off to her tent leaving both a bewildered Roran and a hurt and guilty looking Evarín behind…


End file.
